The Potions Deal
by kci47
Summary: A few years after the final battle finds Hermione Granger working on independent research at a renowned Potions corporation and wondering when Ron will finally want to settle down. Unfortunately, her boss decides to hire someone to help with her work, and the new addition sets his sights on helping her with her love life, too. SSHG. Strong language, smut at the end.Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This fanfic (my **50th** published fic, can you believe it?!) was my very first creation for a fest—the SSHG Giftfest over on lj, to be exact. My recipient was alienor77310 and I tried to meet as many of the prompts as I could! Typical disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.

**A few thank yous...**to ThornedHuntress and Worrywart for name suggestions, KLT for her lightning-fast and wonderful beta work, and Nylex for the use of the spell _Volvebatur_ from the fic "perfection". I probably perverted that spell into something different than originally intended, so for that I apologize. Some plot inspiration was derived from the film "The Ugly Truth", which I do not own. And to Alienor: thank you for providing a good prompt for this newbie's first fest—I hope you enjoy this fic!

**Warnings, etc.:** EWE, AU in that Snape is alive post-war, some foul language, Ron-bashing, mention of a threesome, masturbation in public, unmitigated smut at the end.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Have you seen the projections for this term?" Padma Patil whispered to Hermione as she brought over a vial of salamander blood.

"Do I want to?" Hermione whispered morosely back, adding the blood and stirring thrice counter-clockwise. She waited for the amalgamation to fade from navy to cerulean before levitating a lid on top and banking the flames. She turned to Padma and rested one hip against the lab table, crossing her arms. "We've got five minutes before that needs attending to, and roughly four and a half minutes until Emmerson comes by to 'share the news'," she sighed. "So how bad is it?"

Padma tilted her head and gave her customary frown-smile—an endearing trait Hermione had noticed whenever Padma had bad news to deliver but wanted to put a positive spin on it. "It's not great, I'll admit, but I think if this," she pointed at the simmering cauldron, "works like you think it will, then we can turn things around. Here, I used _Geminio_ to make a copy of the report for you."

Hermione took the proffered parchment and scanned it quickly. Her brows furrowed as the Arithmancy confirmed the sense of foreboding she'd had all last week. "Even if you're right and our project is a success, we're still a long way from solvent," she muttered. She felt her shoulders slump, but the sound of her manager's footsteps brought her chin up. She straightened her spine and tried to look as confident as she wished she felt. "Right on time," she murmured to a grinning Padma.

"Hermione. Padma. Have you seen the projections?" Emmerson J. Smytherson blinked several times in rapid succession. He had been Hermione's manager for a little over a year now and was poised to become the head of the company. He was also possibly the most incompetent, bumbling idiot Hermione had ever met. Usually she dealt with him by speaking far, far above his comprehension level.

"Emmerson. Good morning. Yes, we have seen them, and I know they don't _look_ promising, but I think it's really too soon to put much stock into the bottom line. Only look here, at the axis where seasonal frivolity crosses with annual cost-of-living wage increases—why, this point is conservative, at best. Really, if anything, we ought to account for—"

Emmerson cleared his throat. "I know you girls are working hard on your...special project," he cut in, using his best no-nonsense boss voice. Even after multiple meetings and explanations, he still had no idea what they were trying to achieve. Hermione barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "But there's a lot of pressure from the higher-ups. Now, I don't expect you two to worry your pretty little heads about it, but suffice it to say that I need to see some drastic improvements or else—well, we just don't want to think about it with the holiday season just around the corner, do we? No, we don't." He coughed primly into his fist. "Um, Hermione, the thing is—our primary investor group is really looking for some tangible results. You've been working yourself to the bone, my dear girl, and I think it's time we admitted we need a little help, yes?" He nodded encouragingly at her. Hermione just narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms again.

"Mr. Smytherson, if I might jump in here," Padma interjected. "Hermione and I are really close. Just this morning we successfully matched one component of the _Engorgio_ charm to a Swelling Solution—"

Their manager giggled nervously. "You girls and your shop talk," he tittered. "Look, I've got to get to a director's meeting, but I just wanted to let you know in person..."

"What?" Hermione felt real panic. Would they actually fire _her_? The smartest witch of her age and one-third of the saviors of the Wizarding world? Not that she actually put any stock in those titles, mind you...although it didn't make them any less _true_. "What do you need to let us know in person, Emmerson?"

He began to back towards the door, his shiny loafers that weren't at all suited to working in a Potions company scuffing along the floor. "We're bringing in another expert," he said in a rush. "Not that we don't have faith in you, because here at Hollings &amp; Harnsworth our employees are our most prized ingredient, but I think it will beneficial to get a new set of eyes on this." He gave a little wave before scuttling through the door and into the safety of the hallway.

The locking charm that Hermione cast hit the doorknob with a _clank_ a few seconds after.

* * *

Hermione dropped her bag onto the credenza in her entryway with a heavy thud, nearly tripping over Crookshanks as she unwound her scarf and removed her jacket. After hanging her assorted outerwear in their proper spots and toeing off her boots, she bent to pick up her ginger-furred companion.

"I missed you too," she cooed as she nuzzled Crooks' ears. The half-Kneazle purred happily. Hermione didn't know where he'd gone off to while she had been on her extended camping trip a few years ago. All she knew was not two minutes after the exhausted group of Weasleys plus Harry and Hermione Flooed back into the Burrow following the final battle, there the cat had been, head-butting Ron out of the way to get to Hermione. It had been a happy reunion and completely unexpected.

Now she and Crookshanks were living in a plain but serviceable flat in London, not too far but just far enough from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. While Hermione appreciated the boys' offer to live with them, she'd had enough of that in the tent, thank you very much. And she liked having her things set about _just so_, anyway; living on her own suited her tastes quite well for now. Flipping on the wireless, Hermione hummed along as she deposited Crooks in his bed and began to prepare dinner. Her day had only gotten more tedious after Emmerson's announcement, as every single lower-level staff member had wanted reassurance from Hermione personally that their jobs were safe.

She helped herself to a glass of spiced Butterbeer as she cooked some pasta the Muggle way. The boys always teased her about the concoction, but she swore the Butterbeer was much improved by the rich flavors in the sweetener. Fifteen minutes and one burned Italian loaf of bread later she was sitting down to eat. Hermione pulled a scientific journal at random from her stack of mail and began to read while she methodically shoveled in her pasta.

Emmerson had sent a company-wide newsletter out later in the afternoon, no doubt from the safety of his secluded office. He was scant with the details, but the gist of it had been that a Potions practitioner was going to temporarily join the staff on a consulting basis. And his first task would be "assisting" Hermione with her project. Hermione caught herself grinding her teeth again and forced her jaw to relax. Padma had tried to point out that maybe it was for the best—after all, while she and Hermione were both competent enough in Potions, their real aptitudes were in Charms. Still, Hermione fumed every time she thought of some puffed-up Potions popinjay weighing in on her work.

Since the defeat of Voldemort, she had completed her NEWTs and an apprenticeship with top marks in record time, and obtained a job at the large Hollings &amp; Harnsworth Laboratories Corporation, where she was paid to research the applications and practical uses of mixing Charms and Potions. She was on-track to become the youngest stakeholder in the well-known firm, and the only witch to have achieved such status. Potions had always been and was still a boys' club, but Hermione hadn't spent the better part of her lifetime wrangling two of the most incorrigible specimens for nothing.

And here she was getting herself riled up again. In all likelihood, she would be able to steamroll—er, _persuade_—this new addition to the team the same way she did with Emmerson and the others. The thought cheered her immensely. She finished off her dinner and took a long drink of her Butterbeer. Crookshanks leapt to the table and ambled over to her plate, sniffing delicately. He preferred when she cooked alfredo sauce, but he was known to clean her plate when she made red sauces as well. He settled down to lap at the remainder of her meal and his movements knocked her neat stack of journals sideways.

She righted the pile but not before the top one fell open to the Editor's Page, where readers were invited to contribute their thoughts on past articles. She scanned the notes quickly, checking that no one was trying to move in on her corner of the market. Towards the bottom, a particularly scathing letter to one of the authors caught her eye.

_"You, sir, would not know a high-caliber doxy if it bit you on your voluminous arse, though I daresay such an event would be the highlight of your month." _

Hermione's brows rose at the writer's impertinence. It sounded as though he had a personal acquaintance with—and vendetta against—the article's author. She noted the publication date and title of the offending article and quickly dug through the stack on her table. Once she located the correct volume, she flipped it open to the one that had caused such a strong reaction. Surprisingly, the author's hypothesis wasn't half-bad. As she read, she absent-mindedly began to make notes on her napkin. Before too long, she ran out of space.

Blinking while she brought her thoughts back to her surroundings, she made the decision to write a letter herself. Levitating the journals, her napkin and a quill, she grabbed the remainder of her Butterbeer and headed upstairs to her office.

* * *

Thirty-four minutes and three drafts later, Hermione had a response that she was pleased with. She rolled up the parchment and made a quick Floo call to the nearest owl post, waiting by the window for a courier. When the little brown owl arrived, the bird and Crookshanks eyed one another disinterestedly. Hermione tied the parchment to its leg and tucked a few Knuts into the pouch on its chest. "This is going to the main offices of _Potions, Potions_," she told the tiny bird. It dipped its head in acknowledgement and flew back into the dusky evening.

"Well, that was fun," Hermione said to Crookshanks, padding out of the room and into her bathroom. She decided a nice bath was in order after the day she'd had, so a swish of her wand started the water while she attempted to pile her curls up on her head. She was just kicking off her pyjama bottoms when a _tap-tap_ at her window caught her attention. "Who might that be?" she asked no one in particular.

Opening the sash, Hermione frowned when the same little owl swooped into the room and extended its leg to her. "Back so soon?" she murmured, removing the parchment. Perhaps it hadn't been able to find the correct office? Unrolling the parchment, she saw that it was not, in fact, her letter contained within.

_"Dear 'Defending Daniel',  
I should say thank you for your letter to_ Potions, Potions_, but that would suggest I was in any way appreciative of your comments, which I was not. Daniel Dunphy is an imbecile who should not be allowed within fifty kilometres of a laboratory, and anyone who gives credence to his ramblings is as daft as he.  
-B. Uggeroff"_

"Ugh!" Hermione glared at the letter, aghast. _Of all the rude_—storming from the bathroom, she plopped herself down at her desk and pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards her. _"Dear Mr. B. Uggeroff—which, by the way, is a terrible pseudonym—First of all, I clearly submitted my article to the publisher of_ Potions, Potions_, not to you. How it came into your possession I have no idea. Secondly, I found Mr. Dunphy's posits on the relative uses of mundane Muggle-based ingredients on Wizard-made potions to be quite fascinating! And I will have you know I am not daft. It might behoove you to know that I am one of the premiere researchers at a highly-acclaimed corporation. I suggest in future you forward any misguided mail you receive to the proper recipient, and keep your snide remarks to yourself. Sincerely, H. Granger."_

Nodding decisively, Hermione retied the scroll on the owl's leg and watched it fly off. Cool air against her legs eventually brought her mind back to the present and she marched back into her bathroom. She was just sliding one foot into the deliciously hot water when the same owl appeared at her sill again.

"Oh, honestly!" Hermione gestured the creature into her home and watched as it flew towards her office. Draining the tub and pulling on her clothing, Hermione dashed after it. "What does he have to say now?" she questioned out loud. Crookshanks and the owl were watching her timidly. Ripping the new letter open, Hermione's eyes ran quickly over the memo, sticking on phrases like _petulant child_ and _swotty brainiac_ before landing at the final insult: _"You sound to me like a prissy miss barely out of the schoolroom. Perhaps you ought to stand aside and let your superiors do the difficult thinking."_ This time he'd signed it Kismy R. Suh, with a snarky note that asked, "Is that more to your liking?"

Hermione practically growled. This note mentioned that he _was_ the publisher for _Potions, Potions_, so Hermione focused her ire on that fact as she furiously scrawled, _"So you resort to sending letters to the editor for your own journal? How pathetic. Even if such an act is a poor attempt to drum up business through controversy rather than plain old loneliness (which I'd bet my Galleons on), I still must ask you—if you feel that research such as Mr. Dunphy's is so dismal, why accept it for your _illustrious_ journal at all? (And I do hope you know, Mr. R. Suh, that I am employing sarcasm when referring to your periodical as illustrious.)" _

Hermione felt a great deal of satisfaction as she addressed the letter to Mr. Arse himself in large print on the front. "Let's see what he has to say to that!" she crowed, grinning fiercely at Crookshanks. In response, her half-Kneazle disappeared under the sofa. Hermione drummed her fingers on her desk, waiting, then Summoned another Butterbeer and a plate of biscuits from her kitchen. If she was going to correspond with the insolent man all evening, she would need sustenance. "Bring it on, Mr. Arse," she muttered to herself.

* * *

It was well past four in the morning when Hermione jerked awake, bolting up from her desk before she realized where she was. Judging by the growing pool of ink on her carpet and the scratchy feeling of parchment on her cheek, she'd fallen asleep at her desk some time ago. She tripped over something on the floor, making a loud clanking sound, and after lighting her wand with a Lumos, she amended her thoughts. It had been some time ago and at least—she counted—five Butterbeers ago. _Oh dear. _

Stumbling into her bedroom, she collapsed onto her bed without bothering to remove the quilted cover. She typically woke at five thirty to prepare for work, anyway, so she wouldn't be asleep for long. Despite her tiredness, however, she couldn't seem to turn her mind off. She even buried her head under her pillow, but it was no use. For nearly an hour she kept replaying her letters with the mysterious Mr. Arse over and over in her head, unable to determine why he'd gotten under her skin so badly. Her behavior tonight was rather unlike her.

Cringing as the dawn light began to creep past her draperies, Hermione moaned. She supposed she had just been so aggravated with her situation at work that she'd taken it out on an innocent stranger. _Well, not totally innocent. _He had insulted her multiple times, after all. Hermione grimaced and gave up attempting to sleep. She may as well head into work and brew herself a Pepper-Up before everyone else began to trickle in for the day. And maybe she would even pen a conciliatory note to Mr. Arse… Well. Best not get too carried away.

Hermione didn't bother with her appearance overly much, simply grabbing some slacks and a jumper from her wardrobe before brewing a pot of coffee and braiding her hair. She was at the office quite a bit before six, midway through her Pepper-Up, when Emmerson himself wandered into the lab.

"Oh! Hermione. Good morning," he squeaked. Hermione only nodded as she focused on her brewing. Unfortunately, it seemed that Emmerson was in the mood to talk this morning. "I'm glad you're here early. The directors officially signed on our new expert late last night and he's coming by the office in a bit to meet everyone."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "So soon? But I—" Frantically she glanced down at her clothing. As she'd feared, they didn't even match—olive-green trousers with a pilled scarlet sweater that had definitely seen better days. _Damn. _"What time will he be here? I think I'll pop home and—"

"No, no, there's no time! He'll be here by seven, they said." Emmerson eyed her speculatively. "I say, dear girl, are you feeling alright?"

"Erm, no, actually," Hermione admitted, glancing at her Pepper-Up potion. "You know, I'm not feeling at all the thing. I might need to take a lie-in—"

"Tomorrow! We need you here today, Hermione. After all, you're the one that will be working most closely with Mr. Uggeroff."

It felt like the world slowed until it came to a complete stop on its axis. "Ugger—Uggeroff?" she whimpered. _No. It couldn't be. _

"Oh, have you heard of him?" Emmerson beamed, oblivious to her distress. "Bradford Uggeroff is one of the biggest names in Potion-making today. Always works alone, you know. It was quite a coup to get him here," he told her proudly.

Hermione snorted. She doubted very much that Emmerson had had even one iota to do with _that_ achievement. More likely it was Hollings &amp; Harnsworth's wealthy investors that had done the trick. Then her situation reasserted itself and she slumped against her table. "B. Uggeroff. Coming here. To work with me." She recited the information as if in a trance.

"Isn't it splendid?" A bright purple piece of paper came zooming into the lab and Emmerson snatched it out of the air. "He must have arrived!" he exclaimed. "Now, why don't you take a few minutes to freshen up, and then we'll meet you in the large conference room on the third floor?" Emmerson tottered out of the room and Hermione's head fell into her hands.

* * *

In the end, Hermione took slightly less than twenty minutes to present herself at the conference room. She'd changed into some of Padma's spare clothing, then changed her mind and switched back to her own clothing. Eight times. Finally she decided that she was who she was and Mr. Arse could just deal with that. She ran a bit of selkie sweat through her hair (in a pinch it was nearly like leave-in conditioner) and nervously made her way to the third floor. The excruciating walk there was spent giving herself a firm pep talk about standing her ground and portraying confidence in herself and her abilities.

Emmerson was waiting for her in the hallway outside the conference room. "There you are! You women, always have to keep us waiting, hmm?" He winked jovially at her and in response Hermione scowled. "Now. Hermione. I do have to warn you that Mr. Uggeroff is not the easiest of people to get along with. Actually, he uses a pseudonym for his work precisely because he has a reputation of...nevermind. I just ask that you keep an open mind and try to remember that we're all on the same team here at Hollings &amp; Harnsworth, okay? Okay!"

With that, he flung the door open, not giving Hermione a chance to ask why he had warned her. Stepping into the conference room behind him, however, Hermione's eyes landed on the stranger at the far end of the table and she knew immediately why.

"_You're_ Mr. Arse?"

* * *

"I should have known," Hermione grumbled to no one in particular. "No one else would have called me a 'simpering schoolgirl'." She planted her hands on her hips and glared down the man who hadn't even bothered to stand and shake her hand.

"Lovely to see you, too, Miss Granger, as always," Severus Snape sneered. "In fact, I believe the last time we met, you left me bleeding heavily on the floor of—"

"We thought you were working for Voldemort," Hermione hissed, oblivious to the gasps of shock from the other men in the room. "You would have done the same."

"Actually, had our situations been reversed," he said as he rose slowly from his seat, "I would have made sure to finish you off before I exited the edifice."

His glower was no less intimidating than she remembered from school, but Hermione stood her ground. This was, after all, _her_ place of employment, and _her_ project. Her contract stipulated that all her work remained her own intellectual property until such time as it was independently verified and published, and that was a long way from occurring. So she could pack up her cauldron and take her ideas somewhere else if she wished.

Perhaps it was that knowledge that made her a bit reckless, or perhaps it was her extreme exhaustion from last night's verbal sparring with this man, but something made her blurt out, "Pity I didn't do so, then."

The board of directors broke into an uproar. Shouts of "I say!" and "Now, now, be nice!" filled the air as Hermione and Professor Snape stared one another down. Beside her, Emmerson half-fainted into a chair with a groan. Hermione stabbed her wand in his direction and a cool cloth and smelling salts fell into his lap. Her former professor's eyes glinted in the office lighting and then, ever so slowly, one brow quirked in—was that _amusement_?

Hermione stiffened her shoulders and announced, "I will not subject my research to _his_ views of how it should be conducted. Whatever arrangement you _gentlemen_ devise, please leave me out of it. If you need me, I'll be in the lab."

She marched out with her head held high, half expecting Emmerson to chase her down and beg her to return. He did not, however, and Hermione was grateful. Right now she needed to compose herself and figure out what to do with moving forward. It was quite clear to her that there would be no genuine cooperation between herself and Professor Snape; hell, at this point she couldn't even count on cool civility from the sour man. _Mr. Arse turned out to be exactly that_, she thought darkly.

Striding into the lab, she angrily swiped a crystal vial to the floor, shattering it. Then her practical side kicked in and she cast a quick _Reparo_. It wouldn't do for someone to step on the shards and those particular vials cost nine Sickles for four of them, and she preferred not to waste her supply stipend simply because she'd temporarily allowed her emotions to get the better of her.

_It will not happen again_, she chanted to herself as she stormed around her workstation, reorganizing and re-categorizing everything while she calmed down. Gradually, regret over her harsh words and shame about her uncharacteristic outburst began to creep in. She did respect the man, certainly. He had had to sacrifice so much—if it had been her serving a duplicitous role all those years, she might've been a bit cranky, too, she supposed. She resolved to do better; to model the behavior that she would like to see from him. And that meant no more criticizing words or angry shouting, even if he deserved it. After the third alphabetization of her reference manuals, she heard the door creak open, and she steeled herself in case it was Emmerson—or worse, Snape.

Thankfully, it was neither. "You're alphabetizing. What's wrong?" Padma asked as she approached Hermione cautiously. Then her eyes widened and her voice dropped to a hush. "Oh, no. They didn't fire you, did they?"

"No," Hermione growled. "Although I'm beginning to wish they had." She crammed the last book, _Book of Potions_ by Zygmunt Budge, into place before letting her shoulders slump in defeat. "They hired Snape," she wailed.

Padma's eyes grew even rounder. "Professor Snape? Son of a bludger, that's going to su—"

"Language, Miss Patil." The scold entered the room a scant second before its speaker did. Hermione groaned—of course she hadn't thought to lock the door.

Or flee.

"I'm sorry, sir," Padma squeaked, eyes widening as she took in the appearance of their former professor.

Professor Snape hobbled fully into the lab, followed closely by Emmerson. At least her boss had the grace to look abashed. Hermione's eyes were drawn, however, to the dark figure doing his best to sweep around despite his reliance on a thin black cane. Evidently, he had lost some of the function of his left leg, for it tended to droop and drag whenever it attempted to keep up with the right. Mentally Hermione reviewed the injuries she knew he'd sustained and compared them to the probable side effects of Nagini's venom—

He caught her staring and Hermione blushed. To cover the awkward moment, she gestured to the lab in an invitation for him to look around. She pulled nervously at the hem of her jumper and tried not to notice the way his progress was slowed by the affected limb. Certainly, she took a moment to mourn the graceful stride he'd employed in her school days. It had been one of his defining traits, and it didn't take much effort to dredge up sympathy for the man who had clearly made a large adjustment to his lifestyle.

Hermione continued to watch through narrowed eyes as Snape surveyed the room, then began making his way from table to table, inspecting everything. Occasionally he would pick up an ingredient and sniff it, or twirl a solution around in its beaker before holding it up to the light. Hermione scoffed when he made a show of dipping one pinky finger into a simmering potion and tasting it. Finally he stopped in front of her workstation.

"I can see you require a refresher course in proper laboratory cleanliness," he stated. Hermione clenched her hands into fists but did not respond. He eyed her jumper disdainfully. "And perhaps also a reminder about appropriate brewing attire." He shook his head, saying to Emmerson, "Things here are more dire than I was led to believe. I shall have to temporarily relocate my own lab here rather than assist Miss Granger via correspondence like we discussed."

"You are _not_ going to assist me!" Hermione practically yelled. Everyone ignored her, however.

"See to it that the staff is trained in laboratory procedure as per the Borage method," Snape instructed Emmerson, who was nodding rapidly. Then Professor Snape turned and addressed Hermione again. "And for the love of Dumbledore, Miss Granger, do something about that hair of yours. I won't have it falling into potions and ruining the delicate balance."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "My hair is not an issue! My _lab_ is not an issue. How I run things in my own arena is entirely up to me, and that includes how I choose to style—or not style—my hair. In fact," now she was warming to her subject, "people _like_ my hair."

Professor Snape snorted. "People, you say? Allow me to venture a guess—young Mr. Weasley?" Hermione remained mute and Professor Snape sneered at her. "If that imbecile does indeed enjoy your hair in addition to whatever other assets you believe you possess, then why, pray tell, are you still Miss Granger and not Mrs. Ronald Weasley?"

Hermione's throat constricted at this most personal insult and to her horror, she felt tears welling in her eyes. Since she was unable to come up with a suitable retort, she settled for glaring at Professor Snape instead. He leaned closer and murmured, in a voice so soft only she could hear him, "I toppled off your pedestal rather quickly, didn't I? Take heed, Miss Granger; I'm still the same unpleasant man I was before the war."

Never one to be cowed, however, Hermione stiffened her shoulders and whispered back, "Fair warning to you, then: I'm not the same approval-seeking girl _I_ was, and I won't let you trample all over my research."

Professor Snape's eyes roamed her face intently for a moment and then he sketched her an over-exaggerated bow that she felt was laced with sarcasm. He turned and made his way painstakingly to the door, beckoning for Emmerson as he did so. "Personal and professional shortcomings aside, I do so look forward to taking this laboratory in hand."

He glanced back at Hermione's gasp and bared his crooked teeth in a mockery of a grin before disappearing through the door. Hermione could hear him, still giving directions to Emmerson as they moved further down the hallway.

* * *

The next week passed in a blur. Professor Snape made good on his word and invaded her laboratory space, filling nearly three quarters of the room with his own possessions. His sour personality filled the entire building and seemed to sink into every available nook and cranny. He spent a great deal of time watching her with that inscrutable black gaze and criticizing everything she did. Sometimes she thought he was even using Legilimency to criticize the things that she _thought_ about doing before she could actually do them. It was maddening.

To make matters worse, she and Ron had barely seen one another in quite some time, thanks to her work schedule and his Auror training. They had managed to squeeze in dinner together the night before, which should have made her happy. But Ron had seemed distant and distracted, and Hermione was too stressed from work to make much of an effort, either. Dinner had been a dismal affair and then Ron had Disapparated without even kissing her goodbye.

So this morning Hermione was already in a foul temper by the time she arrived at the office. She hadn't slept well so she was up before dawn and hoping to get a few hours' work in before Snape arrived. Stepping into the lab, however, her hopes were dashed—the man was already immersed in something. He glanced up but did not otherwise acknowledge her when she entered, so she chose to ignore him as well. They spent the next two hours in relatively companionable silence, which was more than she could say for their previous days together.

It was creeping up on ten o'clock when the tenuous peace between them was shattered by the noisy arrival of Ron. The door banged open and he raced in, skidding to a stop when his eyes found Professor Snape. "Hermione! I came as soon as I heard. What's _he_ doing here?"

Hermione frowned. "He works here. Ron, I told you all about it last night!" She grabbed his arm and towed him to the far corner, away from Snape's prying eyes and annoyingly smug smirk. She whispered, "What are _you _doing here? You never come to my office."

Ron was still glaring at Snape. "It's like I said. George heard from Ginny who heard from Neville who heard from Michael Corner who heard from Padma that Snape was taking over your project, so I came right away."

"Weren't you listening at dinner? I told you Professor Snape was here! Remember? At first I thought he was the man from the letters—well, that is, I thought the man I had been corresponding with was here, I didn't realize it was Snape at the time—"

"Oh, that story? Blimey, Hermione, I tuned out after the first minute. You know my attention span." He flashed her his usual boyish grin, but for some reason this morning, Hermione found it far less endearing and far more obnoxious.

She stiffened. "I see. Thank you for your concern, but there's really nothing you can do." Hermione did her best to shoo away her agitation. After all, she wasn't annoyed with _Ron_; not really. It was Snape that had her so aggravated. She nodded as if to confirm this to herself. "Ron, are you free right now? We could go grab a cup of—"

"Sorry, Hermione, I've got to get back. Er, I wasn't supposed to leave, technically, and hopefully the trainers won't have noticed I'm gone just yet—"

Hermione sighed. "Ok. Well, I'll see you this weekend at the Burrow?" They had dinner with the Weasleys once a month, at Molly's insistence.

Ron scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and grimaced. "No, we're on a special mission this weekend. How about dinner on Tuesday? It's our afternoon off—"

But Hermione was already shaking her head. "I've got a presentation to the directors on Tuesday. Maybe—"

She Summoned her datebook and flipped to two weeks ahead, but Ron was going to be heading up WWW that week while George was away at a jokemaker's convention. Hermione had progress report deadlines the two days that Ron suggested for breakfast, and by then it was dinner at the Burrow—_next_ month.

"Right. Well. I'm sure we'll find some time—"

"We can still Floo call—"

Hermione's shoulders slumped when Ron took his leave. Things had been like this for a while now, but only lately was it starting to really bother her. It just felt like they were growing apart, and she couldn't seem to quiet the voice that suggested that if Ron _really_ wanted to see her, he would make time. Shouldn't they be so desperate to see one another that nothing would stand in their way? When death had been an imminent possibility, they'd kissed and sparks had flown. Now, however, it was like they were just ships passing in the dark. There had to be some way to reignite the fire.

She jumped when Snape's voice drifted over. "Trouble in paradise?" he drawled.

"None of your business," Hermione sniped, returning to her work station and shifting her papers around while she tried to regain her focus.

Snape eyed her shrewdly. "I'm surprised, Miss Granger," he purred in that irritating manner he had. It was as if he alone was the possessor of some fantastical bit of information, and all the world was clamoring for him to share it. Hermione gritted her teeth and refused to rise to his bait, instead pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and beginning some Arithmantic equations. Snape continued smoothly, "I cannot believe a person as intelligent and ambitious as you would ever want to tether herself to such an uninspiring flobberworm."

Hermione gasped. "Don't you _dare_—he is _not_ a flobberworm—we're going to be married!" she finally blurted out.

Two jet black brows rose in surprise. "Are you really? How charming. I was unaware you were engaged. May I offer my felicitations?" His gaze dropped briefly to her left hand, lingering just long enough to make his point.

"Well, we're not actually engaged, officially; that is, we've discussed it and we're in agreement, of course, but so far—" Hermione huffed out a breath and glared at Professor Snape.

"Ah." The single word held a weight of insinuation.

Hermione felt compelled to defend Ron and their relationship, although it was more difficult than usual after their recent conversation. "We're waiting until we're more settled," she finally came up with.

At this, Snape actually laughed. It was a harsh sound, free of humor or warmth. "You mean Mr. Weasley hasn't 'pulled the trigger' yet," he said bluntly. He slunk across the room until he was standing at the edge of her worktable, two pale hands curling over the edge of the black granite. "Do you know why that is, Miss Granger? You're his emergency net, his back-up plan. He finds you boring and undesirable, but you're _safe_. He'll keep you dangling on his pathetic hook until he finds someone better or gives up and resigns himself to a life of being henpecked by you for the rest of his days. Eventually he'll become resentful, bitter, sullen; surely you know this to be true after all the time you spent together in that blasted tent?"

Tears pricked her eyes as she struggled to form a response to this unexpected and unnecessarily callous attack on her person. Snape's bottomless black eyes watched her sharply, clearly expecting her to argue with his assessment. Instead, she swallowed thickly and whispered, "You have no right to be so insensitive," before grabbing her bag and running from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I forgot to mention that the cover art for this comes from the amazing pearle9240! Thank you so much—you know you're official when you receive a set of pearle icons.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**  
Hermione spent the rest of the day curled up in her bed underneath every quilt she owned, Crookshanks lying protectively against her back. The tears had dried rather quickly; the sense that perhaps Snape was right had lingered much longer. Maybe she _was_ the safe choice—after all, she and Ron had known each other for what felt like forever, and the passion they'd shared during and immediately following the Final Battle had fizzled substantially. But Hermione had marked that up to their busy schedules and the natural progression of a close relationship.

Still, Snape's remarks rankled. Oh, she could live with his barbs about being boring (she could be); she even agreed that Ron probably would feel henpecked most of their lives, if he didn't already. But that was just their relationship with its quirks and foibles, wasn't it? No, it was his pronouncement that she was undesirable that stuck in her craw. She knew it was petty, but for _Professor Snape_ of all people to declare _her_ undesirable? He, of the hooked nose, greasy hair, lame leg, and uneven teeth? Hermione wondered, quite uncharitably, when he'd last even been with a woman that he hadn't paid for.

"Probably never," she muttered angrily to Crookshanks. The half-Kneazle meowed in agreement.

In the end, it was her indomitable Gryffindor spirit—and desire to prove Snape wrong—that got her up out of bed and into the shower. It was her deeply-buried feminine vanity that had her making an effort to tame her hair before heading into work the following day. And it was her firmly held belief that _she_ was right and _he_ was wrong that had her holding her head high as she marched into her lab, prepared to be coolly civil and blasé about the whole thing, should he be crass enough to bring it up again.

However, the dratted man didn't even have the courtesy to be in the lab when she arrived. Off-kilter, Hermione settled in with her quill and parchment and made some notations for Padma to follow up on when she arrived. Then she drummed her hands on the cool stone of the tabletop, glancing around the room for something else to keep her occupied until Snape showed. A pile of discarded ingredients and vials by the sink caught her attention and she spent the next twenty minutes scrubbing furiously. There was something about doing things by hand—the "Muggle way"—that always helped her sort through her thoughts. Unfortunately, her exertions and the steam from the water only served to completely undo all her efforts with her hair. It was a frizzy, bushy mess by the time she'd finished.

_Not that it matters. Snape is wrong._ She wanted to keep reminding herself of this so she could hold her ground when she saw him.

The counters needed wiping now that the sink had been cleared, and then of course after that the floors required a good polish. Since she was already on hands and knees, it only made sense to clear the cobwebs out from beneath the larger pieces of equipment. She was elbow-deep below the pot-bellied stove when she heard the door open.

"Oh, Padma, I'm so glad you're here," she called out. "I've been bent down here so long I'm not sure I can stand up on my own." She waited for the other girl's laugh and an offer of help, but none came. The silence was deafening and Hermione knew then it was not her friend standing in the lab, staring at her backside. Flushing with mortification, she slowly crawled backwards from the stove, hoping that her trousers weren't pulled too tight across her bum. When she had enough clearance over her head, she sat back on her heels and looked abashedly up at Professor Snape. "Hello."

His eyebrows winged up and he made a show of taking in every inch of her appearance, from her wild hair to her now-grimy trainers. Hermione squirmed under his regard, knowing she was falling ever-farther away from his high standard for a brewing partner. She brushed her hands off on her shirt—it was already irrevocably dusty anyway—and gripped the edge of a nearby table to pull herself painfully to her feet. Her knees and back protested mightily, but Professor Snape made no move to assist her. It was then that she noticed his hands were full.

Following the direction of her gaze, Snape wordlessly held a large thermos of something out to her, and the aroma of rich coffee pervaded her nose. She typically drank tea like a good British girl, but she couldn't deny the allure of the darker bean now working its magic on her system. She inhaled deeply before looking up at Professor Snape's face.

"Is this an olive branch?" she asked bluntly.

He peered intently at her, looking concerned. "No," he said slowly, "it's a cup of coffee." A beat passed, during which she took the mug from his hands, then his normal sneer returned. "If your eyesight is that poor, Miss Granger, it is not safe for you to continue to work in a Potions laboratory. Might I suggest a career somewhere less strenuous—Longbottom's plantory, perhaps?"

He stalked off to his workstation as best he could, and Hermione suppressed a small smile. She knew the coffee was his peace offering and apology; and if he felt compelled to insult her afterwards to make up for possibly being construed as nice, then at least she knew that _he_ knew it was an act of contrition, too. She decided to forgive him on the spot like the Gryffindor she was. _Besides—he's wrong!_

"So, I altered a few of my calculations this morning based on the discussions Padma and I had last week and the latest compositions from our herb supplier. I think if we can adjust the heating quotient accordingly—"

Snape set his thermos down with a soft _clink_. "No, that path will get us nowhere. We should be examining the precision points of each supplementary component—"

"Why? That will only tell us if we've used the correct ingredients, which we already know we have." She glared at him, her previous charity with his prickly personality vanished.

He glared back. "Your company hired me to provide my expert opinion. You would therefore do well to heed it."

"Absolutely not, if your opinion is that we've got everything wrong, from the methodology to the ingredient selection to the—"

"If the robe fits." He shrugged one shoulder negligently.

Hermione gasped as she searched for an appropriate set-down. "How dare you!" she finally managed.

"No, Miss Granger, how dare _you_ defile the ancient and revered art of potion-making with your silly wand-waving and infantile theories—"

Snape ducked as an entire set of crystal measuring beakers flew at his head. "OUT!" Hermione shrieked, pointing at the door. "I want you out of my lab this instant or I'll—"

"Or you'll what?" he sneered at her, black eyes glittering with condescension. "You'll tell your sniveling boss that you've fired the preeminent expert in the field? Or perhaps you'll call your ham-fisted non-fiancé to come cart me bodily out? Or, maybe, you'll even slash my throat and leave me to drown in a pool of my own blood—oh, pardon me, that one would be repetitive!"

It took all of Hermione's latent composure to restrain herself from doing just that. At this moment, she hated Severus Snape. No—she _loathed_ him. "I wasn't the one who slashed your throat," she forced through clenched teeth, "and Ron is not ham-fisted." As retorts went, it wasn't her best, but at least she hadn't hexed him like she wanted to. Her fingers twitched near her wand and Snape's clever gaze saw it.

"Go ahead," he prodded her. "Although I believe there is a company policy about not hexing your colleagues."

She gripped the edge of her work table until her knuckles were white. "What will it take to make you go away?" she whispered.

To her surprise, Professor Snape actually looked as though he was considering her words carefully. Intrigued to hear what he'd say despite herself, Hermione crossed her arms and waited. Finally, he seemed to reach an answer.

"You would still insist on pursuing the youngest Weasley boy, despite every indication that such a match would be inadvisable?"

Hermione's brows knit and she tilted her head, confused. "I—yes, of course, but what—"

"Then I shall offer you a bargain. Follow my direction where he is concerned, and if he hasn't asked to you bear his innumerable children within a month, I'll resign myself to acting as your apprentice. You may direct me however you wish."

Her eyes grew wide. "That's quite an enticement. What makes you think you're such an expert in romance, though?"

Professor Snape actually snorted. "All men are simple, Miss Granger; and Ronald Weasley is one of the simplest of all. I can make him fall in love with you."

Hermione bit her lip, considering. Snape was not a man to offer such a prize lightly. "And what if he does propose? What will be my forfeit?"

His look turned predatory. "Then you will cede control of these experiments to me."

"And it will be just like school all over again." Hermione shuffled some papers around on her table and then began to meticulously line up her ingredient vials, weighing her options. She _did_ want Ron to propose, didn't she? Surely that would be worth having to turn the reins of her research over to Snape. And if he failed, then she'd have Snape taking orders from _her_—she couldn't deny it; she was drawn to the prospect like a niffler to gold. She stopped rearranging her desk and looked Professor Snape square in the eye, extending her hand for him to shake. "You've got a deal."

* * *

Over the next week, Hermione and Professor Snape fell into an uneasy accord, at least when they were working. He no longer stood behind her, breathing down her neck while she worked, and she had learned to wait until he had completed the steps in his instructions before asking a question. It was far from friendly, but at least it wasn't directly antagonistic, either. She'd begged him to call her Hermione, and he had grudgingly agreed that she might call him Severus—but only when they were alone in the lab and only if 'sir' wouldn't suffice. He was still critical, of course, but she was coming to see that there wasn't any true malice behind the bite, only a driving need for perfection.

During breaks or at lunch, she would listen or take notes as he described the various ways to secure a wizard. Specifically, how to snare Ron. Hermione had to admit that it all seemed very simple individually, but taken as a whole, it was rather contradictory: 'Be obvious. Be mysterious. Be the kind of witch that he can't get enough of sexually, and the kind of woman that he wants to raise his children. Laugh at his jokes, make him feel useful; be an independent witch who might easily be pursued by someone else if he fails to act.' It was enough to mystify even her own celebrated brain.

"What I don't understand is how I'm supposed to show him that I'm interested while also appearing aloof," Hermione asked one morning as they sipped their coffee while a batch of potions simmered.

"Are we still discussing this?" he asked, clearly bored.

"Well, I just want to make sure I'm doing it right, and—"

"Much as I loathe to know the answer, have the two of you been intimate?"

"I—um—yes?" she stuttered. "What does that have to do—"

"So he's already sampled the wares. That does make things more difficult." He frowned at her. "Since you've lost that element of temptation, perhaps you could try something more...uninhibited...in the bedroom?"

Hermione stared at Severus for a moment, completely unable to form a coherent thought. Something about _Snape_ and _sex_ in the same discussion was simply...unfathomable. Finally she shook her tongue free and blurted out, "Ron doesn't particularly care for my suggestions." Immediately she wished she hadn't said anything. She might as well have just pulled all her most embarrassing memories out and handed them over to the dark man sitting across from her, because even that was nothing compared to the level of mortification she was feeling at this moment. "Nevermind," she squeaked, draining the rest of her coffee and leaping off her stool. A hand on her wrist halted her, though.

"You shouldn't ever be ashamed of your own desires," he said, almost...comfortingly? Hermione glanced at his face for a second, registering the surprise and genuine concern there, but then she blushed furiously and looked away.

"Right. Er, I'll keep that in mind. Shall we get back to the cauldrons? I think the ones on the end are nearly done..."

Severus didn't press the matter, but for the rest of the morning she could practically see the wheels turning in his brain. Thankfully, Ron interrupted their mostly-silent afternoon when his face appeared in her Floo later that day.

"Oi, Hermione, got a minute?"

"Yes, Ron, just one moment!" she called, counting out the remainder of her stirs on a potion. She gestured at Severus to take over, and he nodded. She jogged over to the fireplace and knelt down. "How are you?" she asked his fiery image.

"Busy," her boyfriend replied through a mouthful of food. Hermione's nose crinkled as she imagined the crumbs flying while he talked. "Listen, I know I promised you we'd go to that new place in Diagon Alley this weekend, but one of the other trainees is having his stag party and we're kind of all expected to go. That's okay with you, right?"

Hermione was about to answer, but she yelped and scrambled backwards when a splash of cold water doused her fire. She looked up to see Severus pointing his wand at the pitcher. "What are you doing?!" she hissed, stabbing her wand at the sodden logs in an attempt to re-ignite the flames. "That was Ron!"

"Trust me," he intoned, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her laboriously into the storeroom.

"Stop! He's going to call back any second!" Hermione struggled in his grasp, but for an older man who had sustained a great deal of severe magical injuries, he certainly had a strong grip.

"I said, trust me," he groused, pinning her against a shelf with his body. Hermione flailed for a moment before giving up. For a thin man with a damaged leg, he was damned strong. Once she ceased her struggles, he spoke again. "When he calls back—and he will—you are going to answer from this room, and you're going to act like you think it's another man calling you."

"That's completely illogical," Hermione argued.

"No, it makes you seem desirable," Snape countered. "If he doesn't sit up and pay more attention after that, then I'll eat that ugly scarf of yours."

Hermione shook her head. There was no way his harebrained idea could work. She and Snape stared at one another for a moment, locked in a silent battle of wills. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of the fireplace flaring in the other room.

Taking a deep breath and an even deeper leap of faith, Hermione called out, "Seamus, is that you? Be there in just a moment!"

"What? No! Hermione, it's me—_Ron_?" His confusion and aggravation were palpable.

"Remember. You are highly sought after by other people and you lead a very busy social life when he's not around," Snape whispered in her ear. Hermione shoved his shoulder and he let her go. Entering the lab, she saw Ron's brows drawn in an expression of pique.

"Oh, Ron, so sorry!" she trilled, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at herself. Gods, this seemed so transparent.

However, Ron was eating it up. "Were you expecting a call from Seamus?" he asked, a bit suspiciously.

Hermione glanced at Snape, who nodded, before she answered. "Oh, that," she laughed, waving a hand like it was nothing. "He, um, asks me out at least once a week. I usually turn him down—" she saw Snape gesticulating wildly at her, "—but, uh, we do go out. Together. Sometimes. Not as a couple, though," she finished lamely. Snape cocked his head as if to say her answer was passable.

"Right. Well. Erm, I'm glad you get out every now and then, Hermione," Ron said slowly. Hermione almost laughed at the look on his face—as though the wheels in his brain had gotten rusty and were now turning very painfully. She knew what was coming before he even voiced the question, "Say, how would you like to go on a date? A proper one. I can take a night off, we can do it up real big. Maybe Thursday?"

"I'd love that," Hermione gushed, pointedly not looking at the derision she knew would be covering Snape's features. "I'll see you then."

"Great! Bye." Ron disconnected and Hermione broke out into a happy little jig.

"Unbecoming of someone your age and intelligence," Severus muttered, reentering the lab himself and moving painstakingly to his workstation. He had begun to walk about without his cane as of late, and Hermione thought he was either suffering from a rare case of vanity or he was trying to rebuild the muscles.

"You know, I didn't think that would work, but it worked _wonderfully_! All this time and I only had to make him a bit jealous to get his attention..." Snape snorted contemptuously, but Hermione was in much too good a mood to care. She floated over to sit on his stool and watch while he worked. "What else can you tell me? Any other tips or tricks about the male species I've been missing?"

Severus set his stirring rod down on the table with a loud snap. Rubbing his temples, he mumbled, "I can't believe we are having this discussion," before bracing both hands on the table and staring intently at her. "One, laugh at all his jokes, even if you do not find them amusing. Two, let him be the man—ask him to help you with your coat, take his opinion on what you should order for dinner, seek his approval for what you're wearing. Three, send him signals that you are interested, and make them nauseatingly obvious."

Some of Hermione's previous happiness faded. "In other words, act nothing like myself," she said.

He scowled. "You are the one who insists on remaining with someone who doesn't value you for who you are," he sneered. "I do not claim to understand it. If, however, Mr. Weasley really is what you want, then simply view it as presenting the best side of yourself until you've snared him. After that you can do whatever you want."

"That seems so..."

"Cold-blooded? Deceptive? Ruthless?"

"I was going to say Slytherin."

He shrugged. "You are, of course, welcome to continue muddling about as you have been."

"But I—"

"Ah! Hermione, Severus, so glad I caught you together." Emmerson's arrival in their lab was heralded by the tap-tap of his heeled shoes, and Padma, entering just behind him, gave Hermione an apologetic grimace. Neither Hermione nor Severus bothered to greet the man, but he went on cheerfully nonetheless. "I was hoping to observe a bit of your work. You know, make a few notes, give the Board a little presentation—projections are up, which is wonderful! But they want to know how you're doing it. Just pretend I'm not here!"

He clip-clopped over to a stool at the far wall and Hermione had to repress a groan. She and Snape _weren't _working that well together, although Emmerson could hardly be allowed to know that. "Right," she said instead, looking helplessly at Severus. "He wants to watch our work...?"

"It is imperative that you not interrupt us while we're brewing," Severus instructed their manager. _Liar. _Hermione hid her grin behind a cough and went to don her protective gear. She had no idea what Severus had in mind, but she supposed they'd have to fake something long enough for Emmerson to get his notes. Hermione and Padma quickly prepared a few of their standard bases, then began Summoning the ingredients for the variations they'd been working on most recently. Hermione checked her notebook and started on the control batch, while Padma set out the proper amounts of ingredients by the different cauldrons. Severus, however, seemed to be tossing things into his at random.

"Did you come up with a different tactic last night?" Hermione asked him, innocently curious. She knew he often worked out potion theories in the evenings at home.

"Just experimenting," he replied tersely.

Hermione frowned. She always made sure to note exactly what they did and what the results were, so that they didn't end up trying the same ineffective process twice. It only made sense to do it that way, but Severus appeared to be trying things willy-nilly. She forced herself to focus on her own cauldrons. It didn't matter to her what he did, anyway. This was first and foremost _her_ research.

That thought was interrupted by a loud bang as something in Severus' cauldron exploded. "What are you doing?" she cried, hurrying over to see if he was alright. When the smoke cleared, she saw Severus peering into his cauldron, unharmed. Her concern shifted to anger. "Honestly, Severus, maybe you should just start over and try the changes I've noted—"

Severus ignored her, pouring a vial of grindylow water into the still-smoking pot. Hermione threw up her hands and returned to her side of the table, frowning when Emmerson appeared at Snape's elbow. She waited for Severus to banish him to the corner again, but Severus seemed completely absorbed in whatever it was he was doing. Hermione stirred her potion with a bit more force than was necessary, and her stirring rod snapped.

She gave up and flopped onto her stool, watching Severus' graceful movements with a grudging admiration. She still thought he was being far too careless, and they'd never be able to recreate his process without any notes, but she had to admit that there was a certain appeal to the furrow in his brow and the intensity in his gaze as he worked. She'd never actually seen him brew freely before—in school, their potions were regimented and rote; and since arriving at Hollings &amp; Harnsworth he'd always followed her instructions. Mostly.

After about thirty minutes, Snape straightened and examined the contents of his cauldron. "Emmerson. Would you like to be the first to try a brand-new potion?"

Hermione scoffed but Emmerson was fairly quivering with excitement. "Of course! What is it?" he asked as he peered into the cauldron as well.

"I'm not sure yet," Severus responded, spooning some of the brew into a small cup. He offered it to Emmerson. "Be sure to verbalize anything you feel," he instructed the little man.

"You can't just give him something!" Hermione hissed as Emmerson brought the glass to his lips. "He's not qualified as a test subject and this lab isn't certified for human testing—"

But Emmerson had already swallowed the potion. "I feel very light!" he tittered. Then he rose a bit into the air. "Oh! I say!"

Severus was nodding and making a few notes on his parchment. "A drinkable Levitating charm," he murmured to Hermione. Then he turned to Emmerson, who was floating slowly around the room. "Thank you, Emmerson. I believe I have a great deal of paperwork to do to patent this potion, so let me guide you back to your office."

"Certainly, certainly!" Severus gave Emmerson a shove towards the door, then tugged on his leg to pull him down and through the doorway. "Er, how long will this last, do you think?"

As they exited the room, Hermione heard Severus say, "No idea." She dropped her head to her work table and moaned.

* * *

The next day, Hermione entered the lab to the very odd sight of Padma's backside facing the door. Moving closer, Hermione realized her friend was bent over a Pensieve. Curious, but not wanting to intrude, she made her way to her lab table and began setting up for the day. Within a few minutes, Padma had straightened.

"Oh! Hermione. Um, hi."

Hermione raised her brows at the other girl, who was acting uncharacteristically nervous. "Hi, Padma. What are you looking at?"

"This? Oh, uh, it's just..." Padma shifted her weight a few times, then sighed. "Professor Snape gave me his memory from yesterday. I'm supposed to catalogue all the steps he took and the ingredients he added. I think he's onto something," she said in a rush. "I mean, he's brilliant, right?"

"Sure, he's brilliant. But I hardly think a potion that makes you float is worth this lab's time," Hermione retorted, feeling a bit put out.

"Fortunately that is not your decision to make," came a deep voice from the doorway. Padma's eyes widened before she spun and plunged her head back into the Pensieve. Hermione turned slowly to face Severus, scowling as he entered the room with a more pronounced limp than yesterday. She didn't want to feel sympathetic for him just now, but the reminder of his injuries was wreaking havoc with her righteous anger.

"You didn't follow a single research protocol!" Hermione snapped. "Tossing things into a cauldron as you please is no better than pointing your wand and yelling whatever words come into your head."

"Ah, then you don't know that's how _Lumos_ was discovered," Severus replied easily.

Hermione huffed out a breath. "It's just not how good research is done," she insisted.

"You mean it's not how you do your research," he countered.

"I'm glad you 'discovered' some new potion, Severus, but it's not the point of my research here!" She threw her hands up in the air, aggravated.

"Then you're missing the point of research," he drawled. "Which would be discovery."

"Ugh!" Hermione strode to the supply cabinet and yanked out a few ingredients, storming back to her table with them, muttering to herself about stubborn men. While she worked, Padma surfaced a few more times, making notes on some parchment and then bending back to Severus' memory. Hermione gritted her teeth and refused to look in Snape's direction. She must have missed a step, though, because the next thing she knew, the contents of her cauldron had congealed to a cold, splotchy mess. "Son of a bludger!" she hissed, trying to Vanish the lump before her lab partner saw it.

But it was too late. "Perhaps you ought to improvise more," Severus said as he stared down at her failure.

That was the last straw. Hermione slammed her notebook closed and tugged on her coat. She had to get out of here for a little while, away from the knowing smirk on Severus' face. A splash as Padma once again plunged into the Pensieve caught her attention. "You know, for a private man, you certainly hand out your memories freely!" she snapped, pleased when Severus physically jerked at her jab. But her happiness was short-lived and as he froze his features into 'unreadable' mode once again, Hermione felt a rush of remorse. "I need a break," she mumbled, grabbing her handbag and practically running out of the room.

* * *

Stepping into the Ministry atrium, Hermione ruthlessly shoved back the feeling that she owed Severus a huge apology. He had been egging her on, yes, but he didn't deserve her misplaced anger. It was hardly his fault that in a few weeks he'd managed to create something entirely new whereas in the three years she'd been at Hollings &amp; Harnsworth she hadn't so much as created a new workstation layout. Sighing, she headed to the floor where the Aurors were located, trying to clear her head and be present for Ron. She knew he only had a fifteen minute lunch break each day, so she wanted to make sure they had the best possible fifteen minutes.

When she entered the training area, she was surprised to find it empty. But maybe that was typical—she had to admit that she'd never tried to surprise Ron for lunch before. Feeling like a terrible researcher _and_ a terrible girlfriend, she backtracked to the front room and approached the guard sitting at the reception table. "Excuse me. Is there a breakroom or somewhere that the Aurors in training go to eat?"

The guard gave her an odd look. "There's the Ministry cafeteria downstairs, but most of them boys head out to eat every day. Think today's restaurant was a little Thai place a few blocks down."

"Oh, were they doing take-out then? I guess I'll wait." Hermione glanced around but there were no chairs. This meant she'd probably only have five or ten minutes with Ron...

"Might be a while. They just left not ten minutes ago." The guard scratched the side of his nose. "Afternoon session doesn't start til 1:17—"

"I'm sorry, what?" Hermione checked her watch. It was 12:24. "They have a long lunch today?" she asked, feeling like she was missing some important piece of information.

Now the guard frowned at her. "Short today, actually. Only got sixty-three minutes instead of the usual seventy-four—hey! You can't go in there!"

But Hermione had already locked herself into the training room, determined to wait for Ron's return. And then she had _a lot_ of questions for him.

* * *

It was nearly one thirty before Hermione heard laughter and loud chatter in the hallway outside the training room. Placing her hands on her hips, she faced the door, preparing to have it out with Ron—audience or not. When the group entered, Harry was at the front. He took one look at her face and turned to usher the rest of their training class back out.

"Oh, hey, Hermione," Ron said, trying his best to act casually.

"Ronald," she answered simply. She didn't have to wait long for him to speak.

"So, um, what a surprise to see you here! I wish we could chat, but class is about to start."

"Indeed. Class was supposed to start at 1:17, according to the guard up at the front. Did you know that? It's funny, because he also said you all had left for lunch a little after noon, which doesn't make _any_ sense, because I _know_ that you only get fifteen minutes to eat!"

Ron froze, then hunched his shoulders defensively. "How about we get some tea?" he asked, sounding panicked.

"I'd rather have coffee, actually," Hermione responded, not needing the caffeine but wanting it anyway.

He made a face. "Coffee's disgusting, Hermione. I'll grab us some tea—"

"Just stop!" she exploded. "Ron, why didn't you tell me? We could have met for lunch. You could have come to visit. Or I could have joined you all. We get so little time together as it is, and now I find out we could have been meeting up all this time? What else haven't you mentioned?"

Hermione crossed her arms and waited, but Ron's mouth opened and closed several times without any excuses. Then he blurted out, "I just wanted some time with the other guys. You know, talking about gir—er, talking about Quidditch and...stuff."

"Stuff." Hermione nodded as if she understood when really, she felt completely adrift. The fight abruptly left her, and her shoulders slumped. "Nevermind. You need to get to class." Without another word she shoved past him into the main room, not bothering to glance at Harry and the others as she hurried out.

She debated just going home for the day and hiding under her blankets, but she didn't want to be reduced to moping by her ridiculous boyfriend. Besides, she was starting to think that perhaps Severus' plan had some merit, and maybe...maybe _he_ could help her get Ron to sit up and notice her. And even though it made her feel like she belonged in the psych ward at St. Mungo's, she marched back to the lab so that Severus Snape could give her some advice about her love life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**  
"What are we doing, again?" Hermione asked as she made a concerted effort to match her stride to Severus' own slower pace. They were on the sidewalk in a trendy section of London that Hermione had admittedly never visited before. Little shops and boutiques lined both sides of the street.

"We're making you more presentable," Severus wheezed as his eyes roamed the row of shops. She'd noticed him getting a bit short of breath after they'd been walking for a while and had slowed herself, but the stubborn man had pressed on despite the obvious effort.

"I'm perfectly presentable," Hermione argued, offended.

"Your hair is a riot, you apply cosmetics with the subtlety of a rampaging hippogriff, and your clothing neither matches nor inspires lust. Shall I go on?"

Hermione glanced down at her attire, prepared to refute his claims, but realized she couldn't. The tattered jeans she had on had seen better days, and the long-sleeved thermal tee was practical but not exactly sexy. Damn it. "Fine. But if you try to dress me up like Lavender Brown, I'll—"

"You'll have more requests for dates than you'll know what to do with," Severus grumbled, finally stopping outside a clothing retailer. Hermione glanced at the window display, then did a double-take. The mannequins were dressed in the most scandalous, revealing outfits she'd ever seen outside of a nightclub. "Oh, no," she said. "Severus, this isn't my style. Just look at that maroon one! Even the mannequin seems embarrassed by the amount of skin she's showing!"

Severus' only reply was to enter the store. Groaning, Hermione followed him in, only to find him deep in conversation with a shop clerk. She left him to it and wandered through the rows of clothes, absently fingering some of the dresses as she passed. She'd never been one for fashion or trends; the only store she loved visiting was the bookstore.

Severus and the store's employee made their way over, with the woman pulling some dresses off the racks as she went. Once they reached Hermione, the woman looked her up and down, then shook her head and tsked. Hermione disliked her immediately. Severus took the dresses from the woman and thrust them at Hermione. "Go change."

Hermione glanced at the sticker on one of the dresses she was holding and nearly fell over. "Severus, no! I can't possibly—this is nearly a month's salary!"

The saleswoman sniffed. "All of our garments come pre-spelled to stay in place, which we feel is _well_ worth the price. Nothing will slip, ride up, or come off—at least until you want it to." She smiled coyly at Severus, and to Hermione's shock, he winked back at the odious woman.

"Consider it a birthday gift, Miss Granger," he said, shuffling over to rifle through another rack.

"My birthday's already three months past," Hermione pointed out.

"Not your birthday, you silly cow. Marrying you off to Weasley and taking control of your lab shall be my present to myself."

"Ugh!" Hermione yanked the additional dresses out of Severus' hands and stormed into a nearby fitting room. As she changed, she could hear Severus and the sales lady conversing about 'difficult customers' and the 'ungratefulness of youth'. Scowling as she wriggled into one of the skintight frocks, she wondered just when, exactly, Severus Snape had gotten so comfortable with women's clothing. She froze, horrified, as the thought of him cross-dressing entered her mind. Then she started giggling, because really, that was outlandish. Probably he had just picked up a few things here and there from other women that he'd been with...

Oddly enough, that thought was more depressing than reassuring, but Hermione didn't want to examine why that was. She twisted and turned, contorting herself to get the zipper closed, but it was no use. She yanked back the curtain and presented her back to Severus. "Do me up?" she asked.

"It would be my pleasure to do you...up," he said with precise enunciation. A flush crept over Hermione's face as she realized how it sounded. Thankfully, his hands made quick work of the zipper, and Hermione stepped out into the showroom to look at the result in the mirror.

She gasped at her reflection. Whatever her previous complaints about the price had been were gone. This dress fit her to perfection, even seeming to create curves that she didn't think she had. The red satin hugged her body and highlighted her breasts with its sweetheart neckline. Turning to examine the back, Hermione thought that her bum had never looked so delicious.

"I'll take it!" she exclaimed.

"It won't do. The color's too obvious," Severus told the saleswoman. That lady nodded enthusiastically, even though Hermione had no idea what he could have meant.

"I thought so too," the saleswoman trilled. "You have an excellent eye." She pointed Hermione back to the dressing area.

Hermione was reluctant to take the dress off, though. "Unbelievable," she muttered, trying to memorize the way she looked in the mirror. The logical side of her brain was chastising her for giving in to such feminine vanity, but the primal womanly side of her was screaming, _Never take it off! _Severus dragged her bodily back into the dressing stall and shoved a black leather dress at her. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. Hermione thought he might actually push her into the changing room, but then she felt his fingers at the zipper and realized he was helping her out of the red dress. "Thank—" she started, but the words stuck in her throat as he pulled the zipper down her back excruciatingly slowly. Suddenly she felt too hot, and her skin was too small, and she needed to do _something_ to alleviate this feeling of—

"All done," he intoned, closing the curtain on her without any hint of awareness of what he'd just done to her.

She shook her head and tamped down the traitorous feelings. It was just that she was so desperate for any kind of sensual touch, that was all. She nodded. Yes, she would be feeling much more righted once she and Ron had had their date, and had a chance to reconnect. The leather dress had no zipper, so after she managed to shimmy into it, she stepped back out in front of her audience.

Only to find them gone.

A deep rumbling to her left alerted her to the fact that they weren't Vanished, simply browsing through the wares laid out on a nearby table. Hermione squinted to see what they were combing through. As she watched, Severus stabbed one long finger at a few different places, and their saleswoman snatched up the bits of fabric that he selected. Was she allowed to join them while she was wearing a dress they hadn't paid for yet? Hermione wasn't sure. But she mentally shrugged and made her way down from the pedestal, joining them at a table of—oh, gods. Knickers.

"—lace is acceptable, but nothing frilly. Small bows are fine; large gaudy bows are overkill. Silk and satin only, I think. Jewel tones, if you please, and brassieres to match." Severus looked up at Hermione once he had finished his directives. "And perhaps a bustier."

"Er, no, really, it's fine," Hermione hurried to say. "I have undergarments at home already—"

"Allow me to guess. Cotton, white, large enough to cover every hint of your assets?" he asked. Hermione started to tell him that no, she had several pairs of knickers in pale pink and beige, too, but Severus held up a hand to stave her off. "We don't want you looking like Longbottom's grandmother when you and Weasley start to—no, I can't say it." He waved his hand as if to clear the image from his mind.

Hermione crossed her arms defensively. "Aren't you the one who's more recently looked like Augusta Longbottom?" she asked, remembering Neville's boggart from their third year.

Severus narrowed his eyes at her. Without interrupting his glower, he instructed the storewoman, "Bring her the dress in the window."

"You wouldn't!" Hermione gaped at her former professor. The rich burgundy dress was easily the most revealing thing she'd ever seen, and most certainly _not_ her style. Never mind the fact that it was probably twice as expensive as anything else she'd tried on already. Once the sales lady had moved away, Hermione took a chance and pleaded with Snape. "I'm sorry for teasing you! Please don't retaliate by making me wear that. We both know it won't fit properly. I don't have the shape for it. And it's—it's—it's so _obvious_!"

"You're right, of course," he drawled, and Hermione was momentarily stunned. "Ronald Weasley _is_ a man given to subtleties and insinuations. How _could_ I have forgotten?" His features stiffened and he practically growled at her, "You agreed to my methods. I am telling you that this will work. And your delectable little body will fill out the dress perfectly, so in. You. Go!"

This time he did actually shove her into the changing area, which was just as well, because Hermione felt like she'd been hit by a stray Stupefy when he'd used the word 'delectable' to describe her body. It was as if she was eleven years old and being told that magic existed all over again, except this time the shock was even more pronounced, and not at all child-like. It took her a full five minutes to draw herself out of her stupor and into the dress, although it only took about five seconds to realize that Severus was right. This dress showcased her wonderfully, and Ron's tongue would probably fall straight out of his mouth when he saw her in it.

She peeked out of the privacy curtain, unsure of whether she really wanted Severus to examine her 'delectable body' in this dress or not. Thankfully, he had moved to the cashier's counter and was in the process of gathering up all the new garments going home with her. She quickly slipped out of the velvet dress and back into her own clothing, ashamed at herself for feeling dowdier in her own skin once she'd done so. She hurried up to the register and added the dress to the pile.

"You were right," she murmured to him. He nodded once in acknowledgment.

"I know. Griselda, thank you so much for your assistance today. It was most appreciated." Severus sketched a slight bow to their saleswoman, who blushed furiously.

"It was a pleasure having a man in here who knows an a-line from an empire waist!" the annoying woman replied, fluttering her magically-enhanced eyelashes at him.

Hermione felt like gagging. As he lifted her purchases and turned towards the door, Hermione said, "Yes, Severus, you do seem to know an awful lot about women's clothing." Something about the way the sales lady had fawned all over him had Hermione feeling wrong-footed. What universe had she been transported to?

As he kicked the door open with one booted foot, Severus said, "Grown witches appreciate a wizard who knows what he wants and is unyielding in his pursuit of having the best."

Hermione pulled a face at the gross chauvinism of this statement, but the door nearly swung shut on her and she had to dash out to catch up to her business partner. "What are we going to do now?"

His reply was curt but tinged with glee. "Something about your hair."

* * *

A few hours later, Hermione stood in front of her full-length mirror at home and took a deep breath. She looked like an entirely different person...someone who was confident in herself, her appeal, and her place in the world. _In other words, not you! _She huffed out a breath and steeled herself to face Severus. After having her hair and makeup done, he'd wanted to see the full effect, so she'd reluctantly brought him back to her flat. And now she was going to let him inspect her, all the while wearing a revealing dress and highly inappropriate knickers. She pressed a hand to her stomach when there were flutters there.

She made her way down the hall, trying to get used to the feel of her shoes. They were already paining her and she didn't have any idea how she was supposed to last all night in them. When she entered the living room, he was at her fireplace, examining the pictures perched on the mantle. She cleared her throat and he turned to face her.

Hermione spun nervously in front of Severus. "Well, what do you think?" The slinky wine-colored velvet shushed against her legs as it fell back into place. She was a little unsteady in her heels, however, and lurched sideways. Severus grabbed her arm and righted her, holding her elbow to keep her in place.

"I think," he said slowly as his eyes raked her up and down, "Mr. Weasley is done for." He murmured something at her feet and an odd sensation came over them. She realized it felt like she was now walking barefoot on soft, smooth ground.

"Oh, thank you! I wasn't sure how I was going to last the night in those," she sighed happily.

"All the more reason to kick them off at the first opportunity," he said.

"I'll keep that in mind." Hermione laughed, genuinely pleased with his attempt at humor and his patience in helping her prepare for her date. "You're naughtier than you let on, you know," she fairly purred. "All that expertise in women's underthings—"

"Don't be ridiculous," he breathed, but Hermione was enjoying teasing him. Even more, she was enjoying the way he was looking at her, as though he simply couldn't stop.

"Mm, it's true," she said, walking her fingers up the row of buttons on his lapel. "Severus Snape, master purveyor of silk and lace and—"

"Stop," he commanded, but the effect was lost when the word emerged as barely more than a gasp.

"No," she countered, sliding her other hand up to tangle in his hair. "I think I like it."

"You cannot be serious," he rasped, his nostrils flaring.

Hermione's fingers reached the top button and slipped into his hair on the other side of his head, anchoring him to her. Standing on tip-toe, she leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. "Mm-hm," she hummed.

"Hermione—"

"Gotcha," she laughed, releasing him and backing away, feeling quite proud of herself. "You bought it, didn't you? Oh, Ron isn't going to know what hit him!" She bounded gleefully back up the stairs to change, completely missing the look of shock on Severus' face.

* * *

Severus watched his younger colleague as she nipped the tip of her finger with the shears and immediately plopped the digit into her mouth. It was the fourth time she'd cut herself this morning, which was unusual; she'd also dropped two vials and needlessly destroyed a boomslang skin. Something was off, but Severus was loathe to be the one to bring it up.

When she absentmindedly summoned a knife from the cabinet and it came zooming scarily close to his head, however, Severus felt compelled to speak up. "What is the matter with you today?"

Hermione simply glared at him, so he shrugged and returned his attention to his work. He knew she would spit it out eventually—a month of working in close quarters with her had taught him that much. They continued to work in silence while Miss Patil bottled some samples for third-party testing. He had just gotten absorbed in his work when a loud _boom_ echoed through the lab.

Severus leapt into action, casting an _Aguamenti_ and a containment spell at the fire and smoke pouring from Hermione's cauldron. After ascertaining that she seemed uninjured, he set about cleaning up the mess. He sent Miss Patil off to fill out the paperwork requesting the purchase of a new cauldron, and once she was out of the room, he spun on Hermione.

"What are you thinking?" he asked in a deadly quiet voice. It had always worked on his students, and he was gratified to see her pale under his displeasure. "Not only did you just destroy a week's worth of work, but you could have seriously injured all of us! If you cannot be trusted to perform simple tasks then I will not hesitate to have Emmerson reassign you."

Thankfully, some of the girl's spirit sparked back to life in her eyes. "It was a minor bad reaction, Severus, not a murderous explosion! And you can't reassign me from my own damn work!"

"Watch me," he hissed, stepping closer. "I will not allow you to put my life at risk _again_—"

"Oh, here we go, back to that," Hermione snarled. "I've told you a hundred times. I thought you were working for Voldemort and I didn't know anything that would have saved you, even if I had suspected you were on our side. It's about time you let that go!"

"I'll make you a deal—"

"Oh goody, another deal," she drawled sarcastically.

"—I will forget that you watched me bleed half to death and _you_ will tell me why you're so out of sorts today. Not that I care."

Hermione harrumphed, crossing her arms and looking very annoyed. "Promise?" she forced past gritted teeth.

"I promise that I do not care," he retorted. When she scowled, he added, "And yes. You have my word that I will no longer refer to the incident in the Shrieking Shack. But you must be completely honest with me—and I will know if you are not."

She sighed and uncrossed her arms, the fight leaving her body. "It's just—my date with Ron is tonight and—Merlin, this is embarrassing—" She tugged on the hem of her jumper and scuffed her foot on the floor before staring at the ceiling and saying in a rush, "I'm not sure what his expectations are for tonight, in regards to sex. Will we or won't we? I don't want to pressure him but I also don't want to put him off... And how can you just come out and ask someone a thing like that? You can't. But I need to plan, and—"

Now Severus frowned. "Does it matter? Whether you do or don't?"

"Yes!" Hermione glanced at him in astonishment but then blushed furiously and returned her gaze to the ceiling. "Um, that is, yes. Because if I get a certain outcome in my head, prepare for it, wait for it—and then it doesn't happen, I'll be out of sorts. But if I don't prepare and then he wants to, then I'm the one who turned _him _down..."

"Gods, Hermione." Severus raked a hand through his hair. "Sex shouldn't be that hard. Are you this anxious every time?"

"Er, well, that's the thing—" He heard her gulp. "It's been a while."

"How... Nevermind." He drummed his fingers on the countertop, searching for a solution. It was obvious that she couldn't continue working herself up over it all day, or she really would blow them to smithereens. Then he had an idea. "Take a long lunch. Go home and—you know—and then be done with it already. Relieve some of the pressure."

"What?" she asked, risking a glance at him again.

"You _know_... Polish your wand. Cast your own spell. Spank the Hippogriff." Now she was staring at him, aghast. Severus scowled. "The terminology may be different for witches," he admitted.

"No, no; I understand what you're saying, I just..." She cleared her throat. "I don't really do that."

Now Severus felt aghast. "_Ever_?"

She shrugged, a bit embarrassed and a bit defensive. "I have trouble turning my brain off long enough to do the deed, and who needs it, anyway? I have other ways of relaxing. Like reading."

"Reading," he repeated dully. Then he turned away and began to pace, muttering to himself, "The smartest witch of her age and she thinks _reading_ is the best way to relieve tension..." There was nothing for it. He was going to have to set her straight if he ever wanted her to have a chance of success with Weasley. The fact that he wanted this particular outcome less and less as time went on was irrelevant. He strode back to his work table and worked very hard to keep his tone and expression neutral as he spoke. "Hermione, you cannot expect great sex with others if you cannot enjoy great sex with yourself. I am hereby banishing you from the premises for the rest of the day. Go home, take a bath, read if you must; but for the love of Salazar Slytherin, girl, you need an orgasm!"

He waited, rather patiently he felt, while she struggled to find an appropriate response. While he waited, he took in her gaping mouth, comically wide eyes, and, barely noticeable to someone else, perhaps—the hitch in her breath and the flush to her skin that indicated she was not unaffected by his words. _Well, good. _He hardly intended to have such a personal conversation with someone who would simply ignore his advice after all that.

Finally, her senses returned to her. "I can't believe I'm taking sex advice from a former professor," she whispered.

"Yes, well, this is hardly an ideal situation." He frowned. "It would be simpler to show you—"

"NO!"

He growled. "I was _going_ to say, 'It would be simpler to show you a book on the subject', but I'm afraid I left those titles at home when I took a temporary flat here." He paused, considering making a special Floo trip back to retrieve them, but then her implication hit him. "I was hardly volunteering _my_ services to get you to orgasm, you dirty-minded ninny!" he admonished her.

"Oh, Merlin's saggy—" Hermione gasped, abruptly lurching back to her workstation and grabbing her bag. "I can't—I didn't—oh, gods." She sped towards the door, knocking into a re-entering Padma Patil as she went.

"If you need help, try _Volvebatur_," Severus called helpfully after her. Then he caught the horrified look on Miss Patil's face. "You, too," he groused, nearly laughing when his second former student fled the room in as many minutes in the face of his suggestion.

* * *

Hermione ended up going home, as Severus had suggested, although she most assuredly did _not_ masturbate. She would likely never be able to shake the memory of this afternoon's exchange...but it had served to cast Severus Snape in a whole new light. _Yes, the light of someone who knows sex spells, for Godric's sake! _She shook away the thought, choosing instead to focus on Ron and some potential topics of discussion for the evening. Oh, who was she kidding? They'd end up talking about Quidditch and the pack of Krups that Ron wanted to breed, once they had a house with a bit of land...

Trying not to feel so depressed about this outcome, Hermione drew a bath, only to find that thoughts of Severus intruded here, as well. She drained it and toweled herself off, feeling frustrated. Books were, for once, not a solace; even reorganizing her extensive shelves didn't bring her the serenity it usually did. Eventually she gave up and curled up with Crookshanks for a nap.

When she woke a few hours later, Hermione sat down and carefully did her hair and makeup exactly as she'd learned at the salon. It took several attempts and over an hour, but finally she was satisfied with the result.

Even if it made her feel like a fraud.

Slipping on her dress and looking at herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the person staring back at her. The scandalous dress from the shop was still every bit as gorgeous as she'd remembered—perhaps even more so, with the full hair, makeup and shoes package. The velvet skimmed her curves and shimmered in the light, and the towering heels made her legs looks amazing. Still, this wasn't her. But, then, surely Ron knew that. He appreciated her for who she was on the inside. She was just...dressing up the outside a bit, for once. Surely that wasn't so deceptive, was it?

She tried to quell the nervousness spreading throughout her body, but she still felt keyed up. If all went well, this might be the night that Ron finally proposed. Certainly, her freshly-manicured nails were in prime condition to display a ring. _You don't really want a ring, do you? _an insidious voice whispered in her head. _Of course I want to marry Ron! _she fired back. But now the doubt was there. She'd always prided herself on being independent and setting her own path in life. So why was she now hanging around, waiting on an engagement? Was that really what she wanted?

Biting a nail, Hermione turned away from the mirror and her hawk-eyed reflection. This wasn't the time to question her course. After all, if this worked, then she'd have Ron and she could return her full attention and enthusiasm to her work. And if it didn't work, well, then Severus would be her apprentice. The thought didn't bring her nearly as much joy as it once had. Over the past few weeks, she'd grown to appreciate his keen intellect in a way that she hadn't when he'd been her teacher. Maybe it was the realization that there was a man behind the aloof façade, a man with intelligence, yes, but also loyalty and determination and a wicked sense of humor. And faults, couldn't forget those...Severus had many, but to Hermione's shock they weren't as off-putting as she'd once thought.

Shaking her head at herself, she exited her bedroom and tried to focus her mind on this evening and her date with Ron.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**  
Hermione's foot tapped an impatient beat against the floor of her flat as she waited for Ron. He wasn't due to pick her up for another ten minutes, but she'd been ready early and had nothing to distract her from her anxiety over their evening together. She didn't want to clean her apartment and risk dirtying her dress; she didn't have enough time to get into any of her work; and she was even too wound-up to read. She couldn't even pace because she didn't know the spell Severus had cast on her heels the last time to make them feel comfortable.

Just then Ron's terrier Patronus bounded into the room and informed her that he was running late. _Fantastic. Now what? _Severus' words came back to her then: _You need an orgasm. _And also: _How can you expect to have great sex with others if you can't have great sex with yourself? _Glancing around her living room, Hermione suddenly felt bold. Or maybe rash. Regardless, she closed her blinds and snatched up her wand, then before she could back down, she murmured, "_Volvebatur_."

Immediately, a light buzzing sensation began at her clitoris. Hermione gasped, scandalized. She pressed a hand to herself, trying to determine what was happening, but she didn't feel any foreign objects there. She yanked up the hem of her dress, visually inspecting her nether regions for good measure. Nothing. The rational side of her brain took over then, trying to dissect the spell and what it did, and how it operated. It was clearly some kind of charm along the lines of a Tickling Hex or something similar where the effect was achieved by sending artificial information to the person's nervous system.

The faint buzzing ramped up a bit then and Hermione hastily pulled her dress back into place, beginning to get worried. When did the spell end? How could she turn it off? Severus hadn't told her any of that—and oh, Merlin, _how_ did Severus Snape even know about this spell? It was mortifying. She could never let him know that she'd tried it. As she thought about his reaction if she were to make such a personal revelation, his face swam into her mind. And oddly, her body reacted, sending a trickle of warmth to her vagina.

"No, no, no, no!" she whispered, frantically trying to quell her blossoming arousal. When that failed, she tried instead to picture Ron's face.

The spell alerting her to visitors tripped just then, and Hermione rushed to the door, relieved. Ron would help her. Hell, maybe they could just do the deed right now, before they even went to dinner, and avoid the drama entirely. She ripped open the door, a plea for help on her lips, only to fall back in dismay.

"Sev—Severus? What are you doing here?" He gave her an odd look, then gestured behind him. To her horror, Hermione saw Emmerson standing on her doorstep as well.

"Hello, Hermione, darling. I'm so sorry to spring this on you without notice, but one of our prime investors wanted to get the research group together tonight, and we don't want to disappoint!" Emmerson practically quivered with excitement. "Oh, good, you're already dressed. That will save us a good bit of time, am I right, Severus?" He elbowed the dour man congenially, but at Severus' glare, he desisted.

"I wish I could, Emmerson, but I'm actually supposed to be on a date tonight—"

"Hey, Hermione—oh. What's going on?" The date in question chose that moment to make his appearance.

"I'm so sorry, Ron, but apparently I have to attend a work dinner this evening—"

"There's room for one more, I'm sure," Emmerson offered jovially. "Ron, is it? Come along, come along, we haven't much time to Apparate and meet Mr. Malfoy!"

Hermione's eyes grew round in her face and she looked at Severus beseechingly. "I can't," she whispered, desperate.

Severus glanced at Ron and Emmerson, already making their way down her stairs. "What's going on?" he murmured. "Just because it's a Malfoy—"

"No!" she hissed. Then she pointed awkwardly at her crotch. "Because of your stupid spell!"

Severus looked confusedly from her face to where her hand was pointing and back again. Then his mouth fell open. "You actually—" He began to laugh. "You didn't! Oh, you did. Oh, Merlin, this is going to be a night to remember."

He started down her stairs as well, motioning for her to follow. "Severus!" she called as loudly as she dared with the others still so close. "Severus, you have to make it stop!"

The dratted man shook his head, still laughing. "I think not. I was concerned that dinner would be a very dull affair but the outlook has just improved dramatically."

Hermione scurried after him, locking the door to her house over her shoulder. "Just tell me the counter-spell! Please!" she begged.

By this time they'd rejoined Ron and Emmerson, who was waiting with a politely impatient look on his face. "I'll take young Mr. Weasley here if you'll Side-Along Hermione, Severus," Emmerson directed them. Hermione's protest was lost as Severus grabbed her hand and they Disapparated on the spot.

When they landed in the lobby of a fancy Wizarding restaurant in downtown London, Severus squeezed her hand briefly before dragging his fingers lightly up her arm. The resulting jolt to her clitoris made her yelp.

"I say. Are you alright?" Emmerson peered at her, concerned.

"I daresay she'll be feeling _much_ better in a few minutes," Severus fairly purred. Hermione whacked him on the arm. Even that physical contact had her nerve endings thrumming.

Emmerson steered them to Lucius Malfoy's table, and Hermione felt her cheeks flush as the pale blond wizard eyed her up and down contemptuously. Was it just her imagination or did his gaze linger on her chest? Hermione wondered frantically if he could _tell_ that she was currently aroused. If so, she hoped that a rogue Death Eater would burst into the restaurant and kill them all before she had to endure much more of this. And Severus was no help—he pulled out a chair for her, saying, "_Come_ here, Hermione," so she had no choice but to accept. Once she was seated, he brushed his hands across her bare shoulders before scooting her chair in. Hermione crossed her legs tightly, trying to ignore the incessant buzzing, but that position only made it worse.

Lucius and Emmerson discussed which wine to order for the table, and Ron's nose was buried in the menu. Only Severus was paying her any attention, and the blasted wanker was actually _grinning_. "I didn't think you'd listen," he murmured, low enough so only she could hear. The hushed timber of his voice only served to remind her body that she was in the midst of being aroused, and the buzzing seemed to ramp up its intensity. She rocked forward, trying to ignore it. Unfortunately, the movement caused the scrap of satin that passed for her underwear to rub against her slit and _damn_ it felt good. Under any other circumstances she might actually be able to relax and enjoy it, but—

"I was _bored_," she growled back at him. "I never imagined my _boss_ would show up—"

"Hermione! Tell Mr. Malfoy all about that report you gave me earlier this week," Emmerson piped up.

"Er, well, my research partners and I had quite the breakthr—breakthrou—break..." The blasted spell was increasing in both speed _and_ pressure now. Hermione panted slightly. "A breakthrough in..."

"I believe what Hermione is trying to say is that we're on the cusp of a climax, if you will," Severus interjected smoothly. "Once we reach the precipice, we'll be hurtling over the other side with abandon. Isn't that right, Miss Granger?" He drew out the syllables of her name and put a hand on the small of her back. Hermione shuddered in pleasure.

"Right," she whispered. "That's—oh, that's _so_ right," she moaned. Severus, damn him, was barely repressing his laughter.

Her behavior had even caught Ron's attention now. "Are you alright, Hermione?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"Yes. Very right. I mean, very fine. Very, very, very..." Her eyes almost crossed when Severus' hand slipped lower on her back, unnoticed by the others, before he removed it. She could feel the rush of wetness between her thighs now and it was only serving to excite her further. Glancing briefly at him, she realized the amusement dancing in his eyes made him seem oddly attractive, so she focused on the tablecloth instead. She didn't know how much longer she would last, with the scent of Severus washing over her and the damned incessant buzzing at her most sensitive bundle of nerves. Even the bemused stares of her dinner companions only served to ratchet up her arousal, adding a hedonistic sense of naughtiness to the whole thing.

"Perhaps you might clarify for me, Miss Granger, just how you intend to complete this project in a reasonable amount of time? After all, time is Galleons, as I'm sure you realize." Lucius Malfoy steepled his fingers and gazed intently at her.

"Uh, well, as Severus said, we're very close—" _Ah, unfortunate choice of words! _"—and I think with the proper dedication we can be finished very soon—soooooon, bloody hell!" Hermione gripped the edge of the table, no longer able to control her body's near-climax spasms. Severus' muffled chuckle brought her back from the edge for a moment, just long enough to blurt out, "It's almost over—the project! I'll have some projections done for you by tomorro-oooooooh!"

Her orgasm ripped through her, and it took all Hermione's willpower not to scream. As it was, she yanked the tablecloth a few inches towards her, knocking over everyone's water goblets. She stomped her heel as hard as she could onto Severus' foot, hoping she was hurting him through the dragonhide of his boots. Once she had regained her breath, she gasped, "Excuse me—loo," before making a hasty escape. The sound of Severus' laughter followed her all the way down the hall.

* * *

Hermione splashed some cold water on her face and neck, then leant against the countertop, trying to get her breathing under control again. The spell, apparently, was quite satisfied once she had been satisfied, and the buzzing had thankfully stopped. It seemed her humiliation would remain forever, though.

But she couldn't hide in the loo all night. She re-applied some lipstick and yanked the door open, only to nearly topple into Severus.

"Come to gloat?" she snarled, trying to brush past him.

One hand snaked out and grabbed her elbow, pulling her around to face him and keeping her in place. "Perhaps a little," he admitted, trying to make eye contact with her. She refused, however, and eventually he released her arm. "Perhaps to make sure you're alright. Surely I'm allowed to be courteous—after all, I did just bring you to orgasm," he teased.

"Enough!" she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "You did _not_—it was just a spell¬—although _why_ you couldn't have told me the counter-curse—"

"You didn't think to try _Finite Incantatem_?"

"Obviously not." She crossed her arms and finally looked at his face. "I would hardly have chosen for my first orgasm in months to have been in the presence of Lucius Malfoy, my boss, and yourself!"

"_Months_? Merlin's saggy—ah, nevermind. I actually followed you back here to apologize but I find that I cannot be sorry for finally releasing some of your tension! No wonder you're a nightmare to work with."

Hermione bit her lip and felt her eyes fill unaccountably with tears. "Thank you for your very frank assessment," she forced out, spinning on her heel and stalking back towards their table. She heard Snape mumble 'bloody fucking hell' behind her but she didn't stop until she was seated again, and she spent the rest of the evening thoroughly ignoring the man on her left.

* * *

After dinner, Ron begged Hermione's permission to go with Lucius and Emmerson to a men's club known for its fine whiskey and cigars. Hermione agreed, secretly relieved that she could go home to lick her wounds in private, only to feel a sense of horror reassert itself when Snape offered to see her home.

"That's really not necessary," she averred, hoping he would take the hint.

"Nonsense. I have no tolerance for smoke since my encounter with the Dark Lord's snake, so I may as well see you safely to your flat before turning in for the evening."

Hermione gritted her teeth, but in the end, what choice had she but to agree? The others exited the restaurant jauntily, Hermione and Severus already forgotten. She watched them go and wondered whether Ron would ever remember that they had been meant to have a proper date tonight or not.

"While the décor here is lovely, I rather think they'll boot us out at some point if we don't leave," came a voice from beside her.

Hermione growled and strode for the Apparation point, Disapparating quickly in the hopes that he wouldn't follow her. She was fumbling with her wand at the door, however, when she heard a _crack_ and Severus appeared behind her. "Running away, Miss Granger?" he drawled.

Hermione finally managed to unlock the door. To her dismay, Severus came right in behind her. "Don't you know it's rude to enter other people's homes without permission?" she sniped. She tossed her purse and wand onto the side table and kicked off her heels with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

"Don't you know it's rude to have an orgasm with someone and not return the favor?" She winged one pointy shoe at him but he dodged it easily, sobering. "I'm sorry. What you do with your body is entirely your—"

"Just stop!" she cried, marching up to him and jabbing his chest with her finger. "You don't know when to quit! Don't you have any idea how—how humiliating that was tonight? If I had just been home by myself then perhaps it would have at least been enjoyable but now..." She trailed off and the tears she'd fought so valiantly at dinner came springing back.

He cursed enough to make her blush before patting her awkwardly on the arm. "It was unconscionable of me to tease you," he said.

"That's not even all," she wailed. "Emmerson ruined my date with Ron, and now he's not even here to—to—appreciate my new cl-clothes!"

She pressed her face to Severus' chest, sobbing all her frustration into the fine black wool. She felt him stiffen, but he didn't push her away. Instead, his arms landed hesitantly around her waist. As she cried, she felt his hands move to rub her back and brush over her hair, and eventually she calmed a bit. Hiccupping, she gathered the shreds of her dignity and pulled back. When she peeked at his face, she realized he looked pained. "I'm sorry," she gestured at his robe, "for...all this."

He exhaled sharply and muttered, "And I shall likely be sorry for this," before placing his hands on her shoulders and yanking her to him. When his lips landed hotly on hers, Hermione froze; it took several long moments for her brain to catch up with her body and then she was kissing him just as passionately. He pressed harder against her as she slid her hands into his hair. He tilted his head to get a better angle. They shifted and stumbled over her sofa, and Hermione threw out a hand to steady herself against the back. His lips and tongue mated with hers for another few moments before he released her, gasping. They stared intently at one another as her ornate kitchen clock ticked in the background.

"What—" Hermione brought her fingers to her mouth, still in shock. That had been...well, that had been amazing. She had just shared an amazing kiss with Severus Snape, of all people.

A knock at her door startled them both, and Severus ran a hand through his hair as he moved towards the door to answer it. "I suspect Mr. Weasley has just recalled that you are on a date tonight," he said woodenly. She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Know that I would never have abandoned you for cigars or fine wine or anything else," he said cryptically before jerking her door open and turning to face the person on the other side. "Ronald," he growled, pushing past the confused redhead and Disapparating.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked as he entered and shut her door.

"I—" Hermione stopped and shook her head. She really had no idea. She would have preferred for Severus to stay so they could have discussed what just happened, but he was gone and now she was stuck with Ron. Somehow the thought should have made her happier than it did. Suddenly feeling very tired, she asked, "What is it, Ron?"

Her boyfriend frowned. "I realized I shouldn't have made you stay with the greasy git," he explained, coming closer and taking her hands. "That club was wicked, Hermione, but then I remembered how sexy you looked in your dress and shoes...hey, where did your shoes go?"

The prickle of irritation she felt was not boding well for their relationship. "They were horribly uncomfortable," she said, then remembered Severus' advice to get them off as quickly as possible. Unaccountably, the memory made her giggle.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked, pulling her over to sit on the couch.

"Er, nothing," she said quickly, trying to get her mind to focus on Ron. Her _boyfriend_. "So, um, what did you want to do for the rest of the evening?"

Ron waggled his eyebrows at her and Hermione leaned away from him. "Thought we might lose your dress and—"

"Ron, do you love me?" she blurted out. Judging by his horrified expression, she thought she could guess the answer.

"Of course I do," he mumbled, leaning closer to her. She scooted back on the couch.

"What do you love about me, though?" she pressed.

Ron sat back, clearly exasperated. "I dunno, Hermione," he groused, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "We've known each other forever. You're great." He looked hopefully at her, obviously checking to see if that was enough. She crossed her arms and waited. "Uh, well, you're really pretty—when I saw you tonight my heart nearly stopped! And, um, you laugh at all my jokes—"

"That's not even me!" she interrupted. When Ron just cocked his head in confusion, she leapt up and began to pace in front of her fireplace. "I've just been laughing because—because someone told me that's what men like. And I'm absolutely _miserable_ in this get-up," she gestured at her hair and clothing, "and it took so long to do it all that I'd go mad if I had to repeat the process every day! Oh, Ron, I love you too, but I don't think it's the right type of love. Don't you see?" She loosened her hair from its elaborate style and scrubbed what was left of the lipstick off her mouth. "I like staying in and reading, discussing the latest articles in research journals. I like cats and coffee and comfortable clothes. I don't care for Quidditch or the latest prank from the joke shop." She pleaded with him with her eyes. "We're just not suited," she argued.

Ron was gaping at her from his seat on the sofa. "But—but we've been together for months now! What happened to getting married and moving in with Harry and having kids?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Please don't make this harder than it is," she begged him. "The things you love most about me—they aren't even the real me."

Ron stood stiffly and stared at her. "So we're done?" She nodded, numb. "Well. Thanks a lot for stringing me along," he snapped at her, storming towards the door.

"Ron, please, it wasn't like that—"

"Whatever, Hermione!" The _crack_ from her front porch sounded exactly like the night he'd abandoned them in the tent, except this time Hermione felt far less heartbroken.

* * *

Hermione entered the lab at Hollings &amp; Harnsworth the next day feeling both uncertain and hopeful. Things were well and truly over with Ron, and overnight she'd found that her heart and mind were at peace with their parting. She would give him some time to cool off and then she'd apologize, and they could continue to be friends like they were before. She suspected that deep down Ron felt the same distance she had. He would just need some time to accept it.

And in the meantime, she was free to pursue whatever this thing was between herself and Severus. Their kiss in her flat had been nothing short of electric, and she only hoped that he hadn't spent the evening thinking of all the reasons that they shouldn't explore things further. She'd already thought up all the possible excuses he might throw at her, and she was confident she had rebuttals for all of them. Their ages, his role in the war, his role as her teacher, his leg—there was nothing he could say that would make her want him any less, she was sure of it. And when she was right, she _knew_ she was right.

Severus wasn't there, and Hermione's cheerful attitude sank just a bit. But then she decided that perhaps he was simply out getting coffee, and her spirits were buoyed once again. She tinkered around in the lab, waiting for him to make an appearance. Ten minutes later, however, it was Padma that burst in.

"Emmerson in three...two..." the other girl gasped.

Right on cue, Emmerson click-clacked his way into the lab. Hermione frowned at his shoe choice for the millionth time before turning her attention to his very pale, sweaty face. "What happened?" he croaked.

"I—what?" Hermione drew back, aghast. Surely they didn't all know that she and Severus had...?

"He's gone! Why is he gone? Did he not appreciate the dinner? Should I have insisted he join us for cigars afterwards? Were we not giving him enough free rein?" Emmerson began to pace, mopping at his brow with an expensive piece of moleskin that he grabbed from a nearby countertop.

"Slow down. Who's gone?" Hermione felt a strange sensation building in her gut, but she wanted to hear the details from Emmerson before she leapt to conclusions.

"Snape!" the little man wailed, tumbling onto a lab stool. "Turned in his resignation overnight! Apparently he's gone to Gunderson, Gunderson, &amp; Fudwaite!"

That was all the information Hermione was able to coax out of her manager before he ran, crying, from the room.

"I don't understand," she said to Padma. "I thought we were finally working together really well—"

"I'm sure it wasn't you, Hermione," Padma reassured her. "Who knows why Professor Snape does anything he does? They probably just offered him more money."

Hermione nodded, but internally, she couldn't help thinking that this was all somehow related to the fiasco of last night. She swallowed thickly as she realized he hadn't changed at all—that kiss between them was nothing. He was still the dour Potions Master and she was still a swotty schoolgirl.

And despite their bargain, she now found herself without a fiancé _and_ an apprentice.

* * *

"I lead a sad, sad life, Crooks," Hermione sighed that weekend as she sipped some tea and stared bleakly at the pile of Potions journals awaiting her perusal. She really wanted a coffee, but ever since Severus had left, she couldn't bring herself to drink the beverage. It reminded her too much of him. But the weak-by-comparison tea was just aggravating her. Here she was, a young witch with a promising career, her own flat, brains aplenty, and a few good friends—she ought to be out having a good time, but no, she was sitting in her flat with her cat, drinking tea that she didn't even want and staring at research journals that she didn't care to read.

"Ugh!" Hermione hated wallowing around in self-pity, so she gathered the tattered shreds of her pride and pulled the stack towards her. She also Vanished the cup of tea.

A few journals later, Hermione took a break to stretch her limbs. Crookshanks leapt down from his spot on her lap, flicking his tail in irritation. A few of her journals tipped off the pile as the cat ran off, and Hermione bent down to pick them up. One had fallen open to a tear-away page advertising an upcoming Potions symposium in Bristol. She nearly shoved it back onto the stack before a familiar name caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Reading the flyer fully, she gasped in outrage.

_"Severus Snape, preeminent Master of Potions and previous shunner of public appearances, will be the keynote speaker at the symposium. Those wishing to attend his lecture on the recent discovery of the Levitating Liquid should register as soon as possible, because this event will sell out!" _

"Unbelievable!" she screeched. Here she was, moping about with him gone, and he had the audacity to take something they'd discovered together and present it without even notifying her? "I'm going to hex his bollocks off!" Hermione promised Crookshanks. Her cat promptly hid himself under her sofa. Hermione ripped the advert from the journal, filled out her registration information, and sent for a post owl. She ran upstairs to grab the registration fee while she waited, and once the owl arrived, she sent both the form and her money winging off to the conference organizers. Then Hermione Summoned a quill and parchment and began to make a packing list.

* * *

Hermione barreled into _The Haughty Hippogriff_, intent on finding Severus Snape and dragging him out of whatever lecture he was currently attending. As she passed an open room, however, a very familiar voice boomed out at her.

"...which is how I discovered the effect of rutabaga mash on the common Tippling Tot."

Hermione's fists clenched. She stomped into the back of the room and raised her voice to ask, "Was that a solo discovery, _sir_? I'm afraid I just walked in and must have missed the part where you credited your colleagues."

A murmur went around the room as all the elderly Potioneers turned to examine this brash newcomer. Hermione straightened her shoulders and stared down the piercing black eyes of the man at the podium.

"Seeing as said colleagues were neither initially pursuing such a discovery nor interested in claiming its results, yes, I consider it a solo effort." He raised one eyebrow at her, clearly trying to quell her outburst. "Now, as I was saying—"

"I am _so_ sorry to interrupt, Professor Snape, but _isn't_ it true that you were an employee of Hollings &amp; Harnsworth at the time? And as such, don't _they_ have first rights to any discoveries made while you were under contract? And don't you think that your _partner_ at the time might have appreciated being included in all of this?" She waved a hand around the room. Now several of the listeners had their heads together, whispering furiously. They hadn't seen a ruckus like this at a Potions convention since the infamous Sleeping Draught explosion of 1947.

"My _partner_ was uninterested in the discovery at the time," he ground out, "and remains, to this day, firmly attached _elsewhere_."

Hermione marched up towards the front of the room and propped her fists on her hips. Now he was definitely talking about her relationship with Ron, and not their laboratory findings. "Perhaps if you hadn't _quit_ on your _partner_ then you would have heard all the details of her most definite _unattachment_ the very next day!"

Both of Severus' brows winged up now, and Hermione saw his jaw twitch in surprise. Then the mask came back down over his features, blocking her out. "Regardless, the fact remains that my colleague was uninterested in what I had to offer. In the lab," he added hastily, glancing briefly out at their rapt audience.

But Hermione didn't care about the stodgy old men listening to their every word. "Did your colleague tell you that, specifically?" she asked, overly sweet. "Because I don't know when she would have had the time, in between shoving her tongue down your throat and then wondering how soon she could do it again—"

The room fell exceptionally silent behind her, so that Hermione could hear one solitary wizard ask his seatmate, "I say, is that witch his colleague?" and his friend's response, "Yes, you blighter; now be quiet so we can hear the rest!"

Severus was gripping the sides of the podium with two white-knuckled hands, looking furious. "That was nothing more than a misplaced display of—"

"Of passion, yes, I agree," Hermione interjected. She saw the hurt cross his features before he tried to wipe it away again. She hurried on. "Misplaced because she wasn't free to return your affections at the time, and even more misplaced because she didn't care and she wouldn't have stopped with snogging if her idiot ex-boyfriend hadn't shown up!" Hermione climbed the stairs to the stage and approached Severus, hoping that for once he would just speak plainly and claim what was so obviously his.

"I'm not—_whole_," he whispered in a rare moment of letting his guard down.

"Oh, are you Splinched then? Where?" Hermione challenged him. When he merely pressed his lips together, she took a different tack. "You told me to be obvious when dealing with men. Well, this is me being obvious." She spread her arms wide and waited.

Her heart nearly broke when he sneered at her gesture. "You may think you are being obvious, Hermione, but your message could not be more obfuscated. I've had enough false affection and pity-fucks thrown my way in my life. I do not need any more."

"That's rich, coming from you! You're a master of saying one thing and meaning another entirely!" She nearly stamped her foot in irritation. The crowd in the lecture hall gasped at her audacity, but Hermione only had eyes and ears for Severus.

"And you, madam, are an iron-willed control freak who cannot abide people not doing exactly as you wish! It's what I love most about you, but it's deuced annoying!"

"You think I'm a control freak?" Hermione felt her lip quiver dangerously.

Severus growled and crossed his arms over his chest. "I tell you that I love you and all you hear is that you've a desperate need to control everyone?"

Hermione swallowed thickly, afraid to believe what she was hearing. "You love me?"

"I've just said so," he practically snapped.

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Fuck if I know," he replied, uncrossing his arms and holding his hands out helplessly. "But I do."

"I love you too, you arrogant arse!" Hermione threw herself against his chest, wrapping her hands around his neck to anchor herself to him. She stretched up to press her lips against his, and she felt him smile briefly against her mouth before he began to kiss her in earnest. They startled away from one another when the lecture attendees burst into applause, but before she even had a chance to step back, Severus had Disapparated them back to her flat.

"I love you," he growled into her ear, and Hermione nearly melted.

"Prove it," she challenged him, tugging at his lapels when he stiffened and looked at her, horrified. "I meant, make love to me right now," she explained. The stricken look in his eyes eased, replaced by an intense fire.

"You see? Always telling people what to do," he murmured. Hermione swatted him on the arm before leaning back and yanking her shirt off in one clean motion. Severus' eyes rounded slightly as he looked at her breasts, clad in one of the lacy concoctions he'd cajoled her into purchasing. "I was quite right. This brassiere does wonders for your—uumph!"

She shoved him backwards so that the backs of his knees hit her sofa, and he flopped gracelessly down, eyes never leaving her body. Hermione shimmied out of her skirt and kicked off her heels, following him onto the couch and pressing her nearly nude self against his chest. "Yes, yes, you're always right. Now shut it and take me," she urged him huskily.

To his credit, Severus was quite skilled at being bossed around when he wanted to be; and he also proved adept at seizing control when Hermione became too insensate to issue orders. Within a matter of minutes, they were both naked, and Hermione was bent over the back of her couch, desperately waiting to feel him inside of her. But Severus, apparently, was in no rush, because his hands were plucking leisurely at her nipples and his mouth was doing naughty things to the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

"What shall I do next, witch?" he murmured into her ear. Hermione's ribald response made him chuckle. "Yes, you little minx. I will fuck you, on the condition that you wait to climax until I tell you to."

Hermione moaned, completely at his mercy and loving every second of it. As he pistoned into her, scraping the sofa across the floor bit by bit, it was all she could do not to lose control. The moment he smacked her on the rump and ordered her to come, Hermione happily complied, screaming out her orgasm as he slammed into her a final time.

* * *

**Epilogue**  
"Good morning," Hermione chirped as Severus entered their kitchen. He merely waved a hand at her, his usual morning greeting as he made a beeline for the coffee maker. Hermione kept reading her journal, knowing that he would converse with her once he had some caffeine in his system. She'd brewed their coffee extra black today, needing him in the best mood possible when she broached a topic she'd long been considering. The way she'd woken him up had been designed to get him in a jolly mood, too.

"Anything of note in there?" he asked her after several long sips, gesturing at the _Potions Practitioner_ open in front of her.

"No," she replied, marking her page and closing the book. "But there is something I wanted to discuss with you."

"Go on."

"Do you remember when you told me I should never be ashamed of my desires?"

"Yes." The single syllable was drawn out impossibly long, in the way only Severus Snape could do. Hermione steeled herself against his probable reaction and continued.

"Well, I've been thinking. There's something I'd really like to try. If you're amenable, of course."

She saw his shoulders relax and the look of trepidation left his eyes. "Of course. You shouldn't have to hide who you are, not with me." He took another drink of coffee and gazed at her inquiringly.

"Right. In that case, I was wondering—would you be interested in a threesome?" She paused just a second before blurting out, "With Harry?"

Severus spewed his coffee everywhere.

* * *

**Alienor's original prompts: **

**Era(s) I prefer to receive:** EWE, Post Hogwarts, Eighth Year  
**Types of fics/stories I like to read:** Fluff, romance, smut, just as much as long plotty stuff  
**Things I do NOT want to read:** Infidelity, rape, character death, sad stuff  
**Optional - Characters or Side Pairings I'd like to receive:** I like an extra male in the ship (preferably harry, but can be a Slytherin). My OT3 is H/Hr/S.  
**Optional - Characters or Side Pairings I would NOT like to receive:** Not overly keen on Harry/Ginny, enjoy a good Ron-bashing, even Weasley-bashing


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